


Got somewhere else you need to be?

by spaceshipdear



Series: Best vacation ever [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes & Peggy Carter Friendship, Bucky Barnes is the unofficial Avengers' babysitter, Clint Barton Has PTSD, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, M/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, POV Bucky Barnes, Peggy Carter Lives, Peggy Carter is Tony Stark's Mother, Phone Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26461138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceshipdear/pseuds/spaceshipdear
Summary: “You wanted to carry me back to my bed, huh?” There is some mischief in Clint’s smile when he says that. Bucky shakes his head, he doesn’t want to go down that road because he knows very well where it’s leading and Clint is way too drunk for Bucky to do anything. He’s not the type of guy to take advantage like that.“Bridal style, huh? Imma right? That how y’wanted to carry me?” Clint turns fully to face him and wiggles his brows. He looks ridiculous and extremely kissable. Bucky’s eyes drop to his lips.“What’s the problem with bridal style?”“I prefer when I climb you like a koala bear,” Clint answers.aka Bucky Barnes finds himself tasked to look after Clint Barton the day after the battle of New York. A story of coming together, accepting trauma and cooking. A lot of cooking.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Best vacation ever [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923625
Comments: 29
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story can be read without reading the first installment of the series, but some details might not make sense if you don’t. It’s a quick read, I recommend it. 
> 
> In case you’re really not interested to read the 1st part of the series here is a quick summary to help you understand some elements:  
> It's a Tony POV fic where he is actually Peggy Carter's son. After the war and Steve's "death" Peggy and Howard casually sleep together to cope with their grief. They have to get married when she gets pregnant. Bucky resurfaces to steal the serum from their car in a similar way than in the movie. Except while Bucky killed Howard, Peggy jabs herself with the serum to be able to escape him. Peggy finally rescues Bucky from HYDRA in the 90s and helps him recover, while raising Tony. Peggy is still alive today and ages slowly. The rest follows canon very, very loosely. The previous fic ends up with Tony and Pepper's wedding, where Bucky and Tony have a heart to heart about his relationship with Clint and they find out that Peggy and Steve have secretly eloped and are planning a honeymoon.
> 
> …
> 
> The first chapter of this story was beta’d by the lovely Coffee who unfortunately was not able to beta read the rest. All mistakes and grammar atrocities are mine :) She did a wonderful job in chasing them and was an awesome cheerleader! Disclaimer that English is not my first language.
> 
> ...
> 
> All chapters are written and will be posted by the end of the week!

Clint pretty much slumps back on the railing of the elevator. Bucky is there in a second to catch his arm. Clint had insisted he didn’t need help to get back to his room after downing vodka shot after vodka shot with Natasha. Bucky had been itching to carry him bridal style to leave Tony’s wedding, which is a metaphor he doesn’t really want to put too much thought into, especially after his talk with the aforementioned billionaire. But in the end he just followed Clint out of the ballroom reassuring everyone that he was going to make sure Clint got to his quarters safely and not fall asleep in a corner of a corridor, before heading to bed as well. In his own quarters, obviously.

He received a couple of arched eyebrows from Tony and Natasha but the others didn’t seem to notice anything. Which has been Bucky and Clint’s everyday lives for the past few months. For a long time nearly no one in the team had known besides Natasha, because it’s damn near impossible for Clint to keep a secret from her more than 45 seconds. Also because keeping something from Natasha is a feat all in itself anyway.

Bucky told Steve a few weeks before the wedding. He needed to confide in his best friend. Clint had shrugged when Bucky asked if he was okay with talking about what was happening between them to Steve. Clint had asked, _“And what’s happening between us, by the way?”_ to which Bucky remained speechless and stayed frozen. That was why he needed to talk to Steve, damnit. 

They still haven’t had the talk. And it will most likely not happen tonight seeing how drunk Clint is.

The first few buttons of Clint’s shirt are opened, his tie has been long forgotten and shoved in the back pocket of his dress pants. His jacket is missing, Bucky looked around for a few seconds before leaving the ballroom but hadn’t been able to locate it. Knowing Clint, he might find it in a couple of weeks in a trunk in the Quinjet for a reason no one will be able to explain, not even Clint.

His hair is askew and pointing in all directions, his eyes half closed as he rests his head back on the elevator wall. He is gorgeous.

Bucky can’t stop himself from attempting to tame the mass of blond hair with his fingers, making Clint groan a little, and Bucky itches to attack his exposed throat with his lips and teeths.

The moment is cut short when one of Clint’s hands slips from the railing and thank God Bucky is just next to him otherwise the moron will have fallen on his ass or face on the floor of the elevator.

“Still don’t need help getting to your room?” Bucky snorts as he supports Clint from slouching further. 

Clint groans again and slurs, “Just fell asleep a little there.”

Bucky laughs and yeah, he can believe that Clint fell asleep standing up just now.

The blond turns around to look at Bucky who still has his arm around Clint’s middle to hold him in place.

“You wanted to carry me back to my bed, huh?” There is some mischief in Clint’s smile when he says that. Bucky shakes his head, he doesn’t want to go down that road because he knows very well where it’s leading and Clint is way too drunk for Bucky to do anything. He’s not the type of guy to take advantage like that. 

“Bridal style, huh? Imma right? That how y’wanted to carry me?” Clint turns fully to face him and wiggles his brows. He looks ridiculous and extremely kissable. Bucky’s eyes drop to his lips.

“What’s the problem with bridal style?”

“I prefer when I climb you like a koala bear,” Clint answers and cups Bucky’s cheek. “I like having my legs wrapped around you, you know that.”

Bucky exhales and it takes him all his will power not to push Clint against the wall to kiss him. This was the longest elevator ride in the history of elevator rides.

“Com’on Barnes, kiss me now, dammit. I know you want to,” Clint closes his eyes and motions to lean forward with his lips puckered out, and just like that Bucky is reminded why he is not fucking Clint tonight.

Bucky smashes his hand on Clint’s face, pushing him away just as the elevator dings its arrival at their floor.

“Shut up Barton, we’re in public and you’re drunker than my aunt Miriam on Christmas Eve.”

Clint snickers and gets to the elevator doors as they open to pop his head out, looking left and right in an exaggerated motion.

“Coast is clear, sir. Come on Buck, I want to—” he tries saying as he takes Bucky’s hands to get him out of the elevator and pull him towards himself, only to trip on his feet—and Bucky has to catch him again before he falls and takes Bucky along for the ride to the floor.

“Stop it!” He laughs and hauls Clint by the arm to the door of his quarters. 

Clint is clinging at Bucky’s side and laughing like a maniac now. Bucky has to take his hand and put it on the pad to open the door.

“Fuck Clint, can you get in please? You’re so damn drunk.”

“I know!” He exclaims, slurring. “It’s Nat’s fault, she’s just—vodka. She’s vodka.” 

Apparently Clint has said something hilarious because he’s back in a fit of laughter, not helping Bucky at all as he tries to direct him to his bedroom. For a second, Bucky contemplates leaving him on the couch and coming back in the morning to check up on him, but he’s not that mean. He doesn’t want Clint to wake up hungover and with a stiff neck.

“Fuck it,” Bucky mumbles, and lifts Clint from the floor to carry him bridal style while kicking the bedroom door open.

Clint lets out a long, surprised gasp and encircles his arms around Bucky’s neck. “Mister Barnes! You’re taking me to my bed, how scandalous!” 

Any trace of annoyance Bucky might have just a few seconds ago evaporates as Clint puts his head to rest on Bucky’s metal shoulder and allows himself to be settled on the bed. Clint sits down and gives him a carefree smile. Bucky is struck for a second at how lovely it looks on Clint’s face. It’s been a long time since Clint has smiled that way, completely cheerful, like nothing else matters in the world, like all his troubles are forgotten. Like Loki had never invaded his head and made him kill dozens of people. 

“Clint, just lay down,” Bucky tells him affectionately as he pulls at the shirt to lift it above Clint’s head.

“Stay with me,” Clint pleads, doing as Bucky instructs and laying on his back on the soft bed.

“You’re too drunk, Clint.” Bucky undoes the zipper of his pants, and the garment follows the shirt onto the floor by the bed.

“Stay,” Clint whines again. 

Bucky shakes his head with a soft smile. Clint is minutes away from falling asleep and he can see it. He can see this now, recognizes the way Clint’s eyelids are heavy. The way he turns his head to rub his cheek on his shoulder. Bucky knows how to read most of Clint’s little habits and quirks and there’s a soft feeling at the center of his chest that he can’t ignore anymore.

Once Clint is undressed to his boxers and undershirt, Bucky gets up.

“Buck,” Clint whines. He’s the only one besides Steve to dare to call him Buck. The nickname to a nickname. It’s ridiculous. He loves that Clint calls him that.

Bucky sighs and gets undressed. He can’t resist, it’s a bit pathetic but at the same time he doesn’t care. 

It might not really know what they are, where this relationship is going. Not marriage, like Tony insisted on a few hours ago. Although, sometimes Bucky allows himself to imagine it. Living with Clint somewhere in Brooklyn—Bed-Stuy, probably. With a dog. And a small yard, maybe. It’d be nice. It’d be perfect.

He slides under the sheets next to Clint and turns him on his side so Bucky can be the big spoon. Clint sighs contentedly and wraps his hands above Bucky’s, right there around his middle. 

“You looked so hot in that suit,” Clint murmurs, just loud enough for Bucky to catch his words. “I shouldn’t have drank so much,” he says plaintively. 

“I know, doll. Get to sleep now,” Bucky answers softly.

“But I wanted you to fuck me with the suit on,” Clint whines again and Bucky can’t repress the jolt of electricity it sends right to his cock. He mouths a quiet “ _fuck_ ” against Clint’s shoulder but his lover is too far gone already to notice.

“So hot,” Clint just whispers, as sleep is finally creeping up on him.

Bucky thinks again about his conversation with Tony. About his wedding. About love. He loves Clint, he knows it. He hasn’t told him yet, hasn’t dared to hope it was a shared feeling, although he wants it to be. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they will talk and he will tell him. He will tell him that he’s fallen hard for the idiot archer of their team.

Bucky smiles against Clint’s skin now. “Hey Clint,” he whispers and Clint hums back. “What d’you think about the color purple for a wedding?”

“Mhm pretty. Purple’s pretty.” Clint mumbles and his breathing gets deeper and steadier. 

Bucky tightens his arms around Clint and chuckles. He kisses the skin between Clint’s neck and shoulder and closes his eyes. 

Tomorrow he’ll tell him.

* * *

_**Ten months ago** _

It’s nearly noon when Bucky walks into the kitchen on the commonfloor. He has been sleeping for the past fifteen hours. Fighting an army of alien monsters does that to a supersoldier apparently. His eyes are still heavy and a bit sticky when he glares at the coffee machine, he looks around on the counter— left, right, nothing. The pot is gone and he’s still too sleepy to bother to search for it. He opens the fridge to get a can of coke. Hopefully it’ll cover his caffeine needs.

The silence around him is soothing and Bucky sits on a stool at the kitchen island, drinking his coke and allowing his brain to wake up. He hasn’t slept for that long in decades. Probably since he has been out of cryo, although that can’t really be named sleeping when it was forced upon someone.

The rest of the Avengers —he still thinks the name is a joke— are all off somewhere. 

Thor has taken his brother to be tried on Asgard and honestly, good riddance. They have enough on their hands with the crazies of the Earth to have to deal with evil alien gods with a penchant for drama.

From what he’s heard last, Tony is in medical with a concussion, a few broken ribs, and a sprained wrist. They were afraid of internal bleeding and other shit so they wanted to keep him for observation for a couple nights. Bucky had made sure that Rhodes took a military helicopter from D.C. to be by his side. Nonetheless Bucky takes a mental note to visit Stark ASAP. Pepper is in Miami, he believes, and can’t fly back because, well, Loki happened. They haven’t opened the air routes yet. 

Steve— god, Steve. Bucky shakes his head. He still can't believe his best friend— his brother— is back. He’s back and they fought together and if it wasn’t for all the destruction Bucky might even dare to say it was the best fucking day of his life. Yes, minus the destruction. He’s not that crazy. 

Steve’s probably catching up on lost time with Peggy right now. And they have a lot of catching up to do. Bucky doesn’t properly remember his entire past but the memories from before his fall into the clutches of Hydra are usually the brightest and— well, he does remember the way Steve and Peggy looked at each other during the war and never got to act on it. Peggy Carter is one of the strongest people he’s ever met but he’s not sure even she can show that amount of self-control. 

Natasha has agreed to get Banner back to India and said she would be back in a few days. She asked Bucky to check up on Barton while she was gone. 

Oh, shit. Barton. Where the hell is he?

Bucky lifts his head and for a second he feels a presence in the room. It’s faint, but he concentrates and finally hears it. A soft snoring. He gets up and walks over to the couches where he sees a foot dangling down from under a heavy blanket. 

He rounds the couch and the blanket is covering half the face of whoever’s under it. But there are not doubts that the mass of dirty blond hair that’s peeking out belongs to Clint Barton.

Bucky tries to assess what to do for a second. 

Last he’d seen Barton, he was in medical, getting checked out for injuries —there usually were a lot of them, had said Natasha— and he was supposed to check back on him but Bucky fell asleep like a rookie and now he feels bad for not checking up on the archer sooner. 

He doesn’t want to wake the man up but he also kinda needs to send a check-in to Natasha. Obviously if Barton is here, it means the docs allowed his release. Well, or Barton escaped medical, which was 99% possible. 

Bucky gives the dangling foot a light kick. “Hey Barton, you alive?” He asks loud enough to wake him up.

A groan is muffled by the blanket and Barton’s face emerges from under it. He looks around, confused, and his eyes set on Bucky. He huffs and drops his head back on the couch. The idiot doesn’t even have a pillow under his head, that can’t be comfortable.

Bucky takes a few steps closer and gets a good look at his face. There’s a large bruise on his left cheek, spanning into a black eye. The bruise is an angry blue and purple combination and there’s clear swelling on his cheekbone.

Bucky frowns, he doesn’t remember Barton having any face injury when he took him to medical after the shwarma. Surely a bruise this size would have already started to appear after a couple of hours. Which meant it happened when Bucky was sleeping.

“Hey Barton,” he calls, kicking the couch and making the archer open his right eye to look at him. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” Barton groans and starts lifting himself up on his elbows. “The answer to that question is almost always no.”

“What happened to your face? You didn’t get hit during the fight?”

“Oh,” Barton winces in answer and when he scrunches up his nose he lets an “ _ow_ ” out, clearly in pain. “I hit my face on the counter.”

He says it in the most natural way, like it makes perfect sense and Bucky is supposed to understand what that meant.

“What?”

“I went for coffee and I dropped the pot, so I threw myself forward to catch it and my face hit the corner of the counter.”

Bucky blinks a couple of times, speechless. 

“But I saved the pot, see,” Barton cheerfully declares as he lifts the empty pot from under the blanket where he has apparently been sleeping with it. 

Bucky knows Barton is a goof. The crazy good secret agent that’s also a walking disaster. He’s heard stories, mainly told by Natasha and Coulson but he has always assumed they were exaggerating. No human being, especially not a spy, can be that clumsy.

After Peggy saved Bucky from Hydra, he collaborated with SHIELD to give them what he remembered about their operations. He even went along on some ops to help find and capture as many Hydra agents as they could. But Bucky never agreed to become an official agent of SHIELD. He refused to be tied down with any sort of agencies. He was free. For the first time since WWII he was able to make his own decisions and be a free man. 

Of course, he helped Peggy as much as he could. She was the one to rescue him, she was a good woman and probably the only person left on Earth he trusted fully. 

Bucky came back to SHIELD when Barton brought back Natasha from a mission where his orders were to capture her, preferably dead. The archer saw something in Natasha, they connected and he decided that he was not going to kill someone that was aiming for redemption. Not when he had been able to have his own redemption.

That was the first time Bucky met Barton and read his file. Ex-petty thief, turned dark ops assassin by SHIELD because of his impeccable aim. A fellow marksman, Bucky thought then. But what had interested him the most was the reason why he trusted Natasha. Bucky never quite got the secret behind this, Nat nor Barton had spoken about what happened back then when they first encountered each other. For a long time Bucky had thought there was something more than friendship but he quickly changed his mind as he started working with Natasha on her intel and her rehabilitation. Because obviously, who better than a recovered brainwashed Hydra assassin to help a former KGB spy in search of redemption? 

Barton was always looming in the background, never really interfering, sometimes disappearing for days and reemerging with brand new injuries and a haunted look in his eyes. He and Natasha spoke often, in quiet voices, like they were sharing secrets. It was both fascinating and terrifying. 

After a few years, the two spies shared such a bond that no one dared to separate them on the field. Bucky had pulled back from being Natasha’s handler when she stopped needing one, although they stayed in touch. They became friends. His first friend in this century.

It’s only when Peggy and Tony started talking about gathering together a team of particularly skilled people that Bucky thought of Natasha and Barton. They weren’t powered, but they were exceptional. 

Peggy explained how she saw the team being managed by SHIELD, totally independent, acting as support when SHIELD wasn’t in the capacity to handle the threat. They were only meant to help and save the day. No spying, no intel, nothing that would intricate them into the politics of SHIELD, which Bucky wanted to avoid at all cost. It was the first time Bucky could see himself working with a team again.

And if they needed the best skilled people, then they needed Barton and Romanoff. 

But Loki unleashed his army of doom from outer space too soon before they even had the time to think about how to organize the Avengers Initiative. And Barton was subjected to Loki’s brainwashing against his will. This time Natasha saved him from becoming the monster he was fighting.

The look in Barton’s eyes during the entire battle was terrifying. He was on the hunt. He wanted revenge. But for some reason—his self-control, his honesty, his tenacity, Bucky doesn’t know— Barton kept it together, didn’t unleash. He worked with the rest of the team and never put anyone in danger for his own thirst for revenge. Bucky admires him for that, he realizes. He’s not sure he could have done the same thing when he was finally free from Hydra if it hadn’t been for Peggy’s trust and long care.

It’s strange reuniting the bruised sleepy guy on this couch with the image of Clint Barton during the battle— determined, skilled with that bow of his beyond anything Bucky’s ever witnessed, so focused and capable of handling so many attacks at the same time. It is a wonder. Bucky has to admit, Barton is far more incredible than anyone gives him credit for.

Although right now there’s an incredibly angry bruise forming on his jaw and it really needs icing and possibly some Ibuprofen. 

“Did you put ice on it?” Bucky sets his hands on his hips.

Barton shakes the pot to check if there is some coffee left. “Can you make more? Please?” He practically begs. 

Bucky shakes his head again and snatches the pot from Barton’s hand.

He starts the coffee maker and goes to the freezer for ice. When he turns around with a bag of frozen peas —that is in there for the sole purpose of treating bruises on reckless superheros— Barton has sat down facing him on a stool and rests his head on his hands. When his curled fist touches the bruised side of his face he moans another adorable “ _owww._ ” 

“Here.” Bucky rounds the table, lifts Barton’s chin with two metal fingers and sets the bag of peas on the bruise. “Keep that in place for twenty minutes. It’ll help with the pain.”

Barton’s eyes travel on Bucky’s face with curiosity. “Thanks,” he answers.

Bucky just nods and goes back to the coffee maker.

“Why were you sleeping in here? You do have room, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, Tony assigned me one, or like his butler thing in the ceiling did. Tony was already in medical.”

“The bed in the rooms is far more comfortable than the couch, you know.” 

“Yeah, I—” Barton lets out a sharp sigh, discreet enough that if Bucky hadn’t been watching him carefully he would have missed it. “Woke up in the middle of the night, I needed coffee.”

“In the middle of night? To sleep?”

Barton shrugs, watching the island top, his hand keeping the bag of peas in place.

Bucky winces. 

“Did you sleep at all since the fight?”

“I think the coffee is ready and if you don’t give me a cup right now I might hurt my other cheek,” Barton dodges his question with a far too charming smile. “Please Barnes. Gimme.” He motions with a grabby hand.

Bucky caves in and serves him a cup.

Barton gets up, winks at him, and waves with the bag of peas while he walks to the exit door with the steaming mug. “Twenty minutes! Thanks Barnes.”

He’s gone in a second and there’s a bad feeling at the bottom of Bucky’s stomach that Barton isn’t dealing well at all with the whole brainwashing thing.

He lets out a long sigh. Natasha isn’t here, and won’t be for a few days. And Bucky might be the only one to really understand what Barton is going through. Looks like his next mission is going to be very different than what he is used to. 

* * *

_“Mister Barnes?”_

The next day, JARVIS calls for him while Bucky is making grilled cheese sandwiches he wants to bring to Tony in medical. Bucky went to visit him after his encounter with Barton, and Tony had been complaining about the lack of proper junk food while the docs clearly explained he should eat healthy. Bucky agrees but, hey, Tony is recovering, carbs are needed too, right? 

“Yes J?”

_“You asked me to let you know if Sir was trying to leave the medical facility against his doctor’s orders or doing anything stupid.”_

Bucky sighed. “And which is it?”

_“I’m afraid he’s done both, Mister Barnes. He’s fled the medical bay and is currently in his lab working with highly flammable materials with a hand in a cast.”_

Bucky lets out a litany of cuss words that even Steve would blush about. He shuts down the stove, packs the half cooked cheese sandwich and storms out of the kitchen area. 

He takes the stairs, the lab is just the floor above the living spaces and it’s faster. When he gets there, Tony is still wearing his hospital gown and Bucky gets a full view of Tony’s ass crack.

“For fuck’s sake, Tony, you’re half naked!”

“Ah, I wondered how long before JARVIS would rat me out.” He looks up the ceiling. “Traitor.” 

_“You’re welcome, Sir,”_ the AI’s metallic voice answers without an ounce of sarcasm, which makes it even better.

There’s a snort behind Bucky as he removes his hoodie to give it to Tony. He’s battling Tony’s hands for him to put the sweater on—which proves difficult when Tony is fighting back and his left wrist is in a cast. Bucky turns back, still trying to wrestle Tony into the hoodie and notices Barton half laying on a table covered with tools.

“What is he doing here— dammit, Tony, stop moving,” he instructs and finally wins the fight. 

The hoodie isn’t long enough to cover Tony’s ass but at least it’s keeping the gown in place.

“He was in medical to get a new batch of painkillers and helped me escape.”

Bucky mumbles, “Are you fucking kidding me,” and shoves the sandwich wrapped in paper at Tony’s chest.

“Ooh grilled cheese, yay!” The billionaire exclames and lets his tools down, thank God. 

“Grilled cheese?” Barton lifts his head, interested. “Can I get one?”

Barton’s face is rumpled and the pattern of his sweater’s sleeve is imprinted in his left cheek. The dark circles under his eyes are even more pronounced than yesterday and Bucky isn’t sure he’s allowed to comment on it.

“Sorry, I only got time to make the one,” Bucky answers back, biting back his need to ask about Barton’s wellbeing.

“It’s half cooked!” Tony shouts from the main working bench in the middle room.

“Yeah, well if you’d stay in medical you would have had a fully cooked sandwich and even some guacamole and chips,” Bucky answers, clearly stating his annoyance.

Tony makes a face and stuffs the rest of the grilled cheese in his mouth angrily with a defying look targeted at Bucky.

“What are you doing here Tony?” Bucky asks before turning back to Barton, “and why the hell did you help him?”

Barton shrugs, as usual. He looks so tired, it doesn’t sit well at all with Bucky. There are nerves in his body he can feel reacting to the poor sight Barton makes, half slouched on the table, haunted eyes and tight features all over his face.

_One thing at the time_ Bucky thinks.

“Tony,” he starts softly, and Tony has his back turned to Bucky but he still hears him mumble _“Not listening.”_

“Tony,” Bucky insists a little louder. “Where’s Rhodes?”

Tony waves dismissively without turning. “Back to D.C. for a couple of days. There’s a lot of shit going on there, I guess.”

Bucky’s not even sure Tony is telling him the truth. He might just as well have sent back his friend to D.C..

“And where’s Pepper?”

That, at least, gets Tony’s attention. He turns back to face Bucky, clear nervousness invading him.

“Why?”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Of course I have,” Tony answers, almost offended.

“What did she say?”

“She shouted. A lot.” Tony scratches the back of his head. “I’m not sure exactly what was said, I was under a lot of anesthetics. The good stuff.”

“Can I get that too?” Barton asks and Bucky shots him an alarmed look. “Or not,” Barton concludes, folding in on himself like he wanted to disappear under Bucky’s gaze.

Shit, that wasn’t the way Bucky wanted to see Barton react. Bucky walks towards and tentatively gets closer to Barton without touching him. “You hurt?”

Barton shrugs. “Not really.” He rubs at his nose and winces a little, probably because of his face injury from yesterday. “Just would be nice to be under the nice drugs.”

“I—” Bucky starts but then stops when he realizes granting Barton heavy drugs wouldn’t solve anything. 

He returns his attention to Tony who is already fiddling with sharp tools and probably flammable materials and Bucky really doesn’t need the three of them to blow up when they just survived an alien invasion. It would be very, very stupid. He’ll get back to Barton in a minute.

“You should go see Pepper. You should be with her,” Bucky says, both because it’s true and because he doesn’t have the patience to take care of two PTSD ridden Avengers at the same time. 

Until Natasha comes back to take over with Barton, he has no one else to ask. Peggy could be an alternative to look after Tony, but Bucky doesn’t want to drag Steve into the mix, especially after the way his first encounter with the billionaire went in the helicarrier. They also have been reunited less than two days, Bucky should at least allow them some time after 60 years apart. 

Tony is oddly quiet and after a while he finally clears his throat. 

“Yeah, probably. But there aren’t any flights out of the city allowed.” His voice is smaller than before and Bucky can read the apprehension.

“Tony, you have two private jets waiting on Teterboro’s tarmac. The area hasn’t been touched and I’m sure you can pull some strings to take off from there?”

No answers but Bucky can practically see the gears in Tony’s head turning.

“Come on, don’t you want to see her?” 

“Damn, shut up Bucket. I hate it when you’re right,” Tony points out and collects some random objects —to Bucky’s knowledge of tools— before heading to the exit. “JARVIS, let whoever can fly my jet know that I’m heading to Miami asap.”

_“Very well, Sir,”_ JARVIS answers immediately. _“I already took the liberty to clear the flight authorization with the FAA.”_

“You’re in cahoots with T-900, aren’t you?” Tony says as he leaves and Bucky can hear him continue bickering with his AI until he reaches the elevator.

Bucky lets out a long sigh and looks down at Barton. The archer is resting his head on his arm stretched out on the lab table and looking up at Bucky. His blue eyes are almost grey these days but there’s a small smile threatening to appear on his face and it makes Bucky feel a little better for some reason.

“I think you’re more of a T-1000. More lethal,” Barton comments.

Bucky snorts. “I haven’t seen most of the films Tony refers to all the time.”

That perks up Barton’s attention and he straightens up. 

“What? You’ve never seen Terminator? You kidding me? Weren’t you already out of Hydra’s claws when that came out? What the fuck, Barnes?”

This time it’s Bucky who shrugs. “I was stuck in a SHIELD holding facility for like five years after Hydra. Not the best place to catch up on movies.”

“Aw,” Barton ducks his head before giving him a pleading blue-eyed puppy look. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Wanna watch it with me?” Bucky asks before his brain can catch up. “I’ve got enough stuff in the kitchen to make a little tower of grilled cheese. We can ask J to queue up the Terminators?”

Barton is quiet for a short moment and Bucky is surprised to feel a sort of insecurity. Like he’s bracing himself for Clint’s rejection.

“Okay,” Barton just agrees, watching him with curiosity. “But you don’t have to hang out with me, I’m— I’m doing fine.”

The anxiety at the pit of Bucky’s stomach evaporates immediately. 

“First of all, you’re not doing fine. Doesn’t take a genius to see that and especially not someone who’s been brainwashed for years and had to cope with the guilt of killing hundreds of people,” Bucky tells him bluntly. 

Barton blinks. He was clearly not expecting Bucky to be so honest and raw. Bucky has no idea how Barton is going to react but he finds that he doesn’t care. He’ll deal with it anyway. It’s just the two of them here and clearly Barton needs help. He can’t let him sink into a hole of self-hatred and depression. Besides fighting bad guys, Bucky doesn’t have much to offer the world but he can help a good man recover from a trauma he knows too well.

“I—” Barton starts, but Bucky doesn’t let him finish. No need to dive into it just this moment, but at least now Barton knows Bucky is here for him. He’ll open up when he feels like it. In the meantime, they have a movie to watch and a pile of sandwiches to inhale. 

“And secondly, I need to understand all the names Tony calls me so I can find a stupid nickname to call him back. I’m sure you’re the perfect man for that mission,” Bucky concludes.

The half smile on Barton’s face is enough to warm up Bucky until next winter. 

* * *

Bucky makes the sandwiches, with extra cheese, Barton makes sure JARVIS lines up the right movies —apparently they won’t be watching the third one— and they sit down on the couch next to each other.

After half of the second movie, it’s nearly 8pm and Barton has fallen asleep, his head on a nest of pillows and his feet practically tucked under Bucky’s thigh. The soldier doesn’t move, and keeps glancing back at Barton for the rest of the film. 

Bucky tries to reassure himself that he’s just glad his teammate is finally getting some sleep. He tries. Hard. But after glancing at Barton for the hundredth time and smiling like an idiot when Barton makes the tiniest noise during his sleep, he has to admit that there’s a slight chance he doesn’t just see Barton as one of his teammates anymore. Like, a super teeny tiny slight chance.

* * *

Okay, so maybe Bucky feels a little weird about Clint. _Barton_ , dammit. He wants to convince himself it’s because he feels compelled to support Clint, that he has to get close to help him recover. Although that doesn’t explain why he is lying down on his couch, watching the ceiling and thinking about the tiny smiles and the sparks in Clint’s eyes when they watched TV and Clint was already telling him about the next scene, all excited and looking way less depressed. 

Bucky longs to watch him be happy and he doesn’t want to admit that this was dangerously sliding into a territory that isn’t ideal for Clint’s wellbeing—right now he certainly doesn’t need an ex-assassin supersoldier pining over him—nor for the dynamics of the team.

“J?” Bucky asks, trying to change his train of thoughts and failing miserably. 

_“Yes, Mister Barnes?”_

“How’s Barton’s sleeping schedule?”

_“Not ideal for his health and concentration.”_

“Meaning?”

_“It’s been erratic,”_ the AI simply answers. 

Bucky sits down and grimaces.

“What does that mean? How much has he been sleeping in the last 48 hours?”

_“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge precise private information about the inhabitants of the Stark Tower.”_

Bucky groans in frustration.

“Seriously? I’m trying to help Barton here, I’m not prying about his private information. Why isn’t he sleeping?” Like Bucky really needs to ask the question, he knows very well why, he just needs to get a good picture of the symptoms. “Nightmares? Is he resisting going to bed?”

_“Again, I am unfortunately programmed to keep private information confidential. May I suggest that you speak to him directly, Sir?”_

“Fine,” Bucky grumbles and gets up. “Where is he?”

_“You’ll find him in his quarters.”_

“Has he eaten something?” Bucky realizes he’s still fishing for information. “Nevermind,” he tells the AI before waiting for its answer. “I’ll ask him myself. Hopefully there’s food in his kitchen.”

_“Hawkeye’s kitchen was stocked with supplies a couple of days ago. He has only had cereals from it.”_

Bucky lets out a last groan before heading to Clint’s apartment. 

* * *

The door opens on its own a few seconds after Bucky knocks on it. Clint has instructed JARVIS to get it open for him.

Bucky finds Clint on his couch, absentmindedly changing the channels on the TV. The apartment isn’t in total disarray like Bucky had expected. It looks… Well, it actually looks like no one has been living here at all. No personal items, no decor beside the default issued ones that every apartment in the Avengers quarters are provided with. Which makes sense. Clint has only been here for a couple of days. Up until now, Bucky was the only Avenger who had actually lived in the Tower, at least when he was in New York.

The only thing looking out of place was the coffee pot on the table in front of Clint, with no cup anywhere near it, and a bright fluffy purple blanket half sitting on the couch and pooling down to the floor next to Clint.

“What’s up, Barnes?” Clint calls without looking at Bucky.

“Have you eaten something?” 

Clint turns his head to the side to watch Bucky with a frown. He sizes him up from head to toe. Bucky has his hands on his hips and probably looks like a father who’s been scolding their child. He can’t help it. Years of doing the same to the scrawny idiot he grew up with leaves terrible habits.

“Yes I have, _daddy_ ,” Clint teases with a smirk that comes far too easily to his face and it takes all of Bucky’s long-time experience in self-controlling his expressions not to whimper like a horny schoolboy. 

“You’re lying,” he objects, and snatches the coffee pot before walking behind the kitchen counter. His hands and his mind need to keep busy, finding something to cook that doesn't come from a box will do the trick. “We’re having lunch.”

“So you’re buying me lunch before—” Clint starts, but Bucky cuts him immediately.

“Shut up, Barton. I’m making eggs and bacon.” He says, and is glad that Clint doesn’t add more. Bucky is going to have to work on his composure and this stupid crush because Clint is a tease and a flirt with everyone, and up until now this hasn’t been a problem. It _can’t_ become a problem.

Clint huffs out a laugh and turns back to the television. While Bucky is busy preparing the ingredients and looking for the pans—which turns out are in the exact same place, in the exact same cupboard as in his quarters—Clint calls out from the couch without turning around, _“sunny side up.”_

“Right away, sir,” Bucky answers, and hears an amused grunt from Clint’s direction. 

A few minutes later, Clint is happily digging into the plate on the coffee table next to a steaming mug that he had welcomed like the holy grail. It makes Bucky relax and allows him to enjoy his lunch in relative silence while Clint is inhaling his cooking.

“You’re a real mother hen, y’know that, right?” Clint finally speaks around a mouthful. It doesn’t sound like a complaint.

“Yeah. I've been called that in the past.”

“Past past or recent past?”

Weirdly enough, the statement makes sense. Bucky is kind of surprised Clint can word that so accurately. 

Bucky has two pasts, after all. One as the boy from Brooklyn gone to fight a war along with his best friend, and another as the man who came back from hell, seeking redemption.

He has a third one, too. The Winter Soldier is the past he doesn’t really want to dwell on too much and certainly not talk about with his teammates. Clint seems to understand it. He never asks questions, never mentions or makes fun of his years as a killer, Bucky now realizes.

Bucky and Clint have never worked that much together, Bucky not being part of SHIELD. They’ve just interacted a few times over the years. They crossed paths when Bucky worked to rehabilitate Natasha. As for missions, there were a couple. A few years back for a mission Peggy had asked Bucky to be part of because it involved HYDRA and well, a couple of days ago when aliens invaded New York. Other than that, they very rarely socialized. Turns out Clint is more perceptive than Bucky had imagined, not that he had thought about Clint all that much in the past years. What a mistake. 

“Both,” Bucky ducks his head. “Steve, obviously. And I’ve been in the field with Peggy _and_ Tony, so let me tell you they both need mother-henning.”

“Hey you’ve never mother-henned me in the field. I’m almost offended,” Clint jokes and drinks the last of his coffee. He gets up for a refill.

“I usually take care of them after the fight, y’know, injuries and their total lack of self-care. You know how to take care of yourself in the field and you have Natasha to keep you from dying of an open wound after the fact.”

Clint sits back down looking very satisfied with Bucky’s answer.

“But she’s not there now? So you take care of me in my home.” 

This sounds far too intimate for Bucky for some reason.

“This isn’t your home, man. You clearly don’t live here.”

Clint is silent for a quick second and then gives Bucky one of those tiny smiles.

“Where is it you live, by the way? Bushwick?” Bucky continues, while focusing back on the plate balanced on his knees.

“Bed-Stuy.”

“Ah, right. Why ain’t you there?”

“Nat said I wasn’t allowed to be there until she comes back. That I can’t be left alone.”

Bucky snorts, “See, told ya. She’s your mother hen.”

“Well, apparently she thinks you’re a good substitute.” Clint sounds amused, but there is also something soft in his voice. Something that warms Bucky’s insides. Aw, shit.

“She’s perceptive.” 

“She is,” Clint concludes and they finish eating in silence.

After everything is cleared from the table, they argue about the best video games. Clearly it’s Mario Kart but Clint seems to think Zelda is superior, which is fine, but actually no. So they end up agreeing to play a game of Far Cry 3 and call it a day.

They are right in the middle of the second game, Bucky lost the first one by so little that he’s out for revenge, when Clint’s character on the screen stops moving.

“Come on Barton, just don’t stand there, there’s— ughh,” Bucky grunts as he tries to get back in the building they were trying to break in. There’s no sound coming from Clint, except from his rapid breathing and Bucky glances quickly to his side. Clint is clutching so hard at the controller, his knuckles have turned white. There are tears streaming down his cheeks.

Bucky drops the controller down on the table in a second and leans over to check on Clint.

“Barton? You alright?”

The archer’s chest is heaving up and down far too rapidly, he can’t control his breathing and the panic in his eyes is clear as day. He’s having a panic attack.

“Barton, Barton?” Bucky tries getting his attention, but Clint’s eyes are glued to the screen without seeing it. “Snap out of it!” Bucky shouts and snaps his fingers. 

Clint jumps so high that the controller ends up crashing on the floor behind the couch and he’s on his feets in a second. Bucky immediately regrets his actions, he should have eased him out of the catatonic shock. He just panicked a little too, the emptiness in Clint’s eyes was a little too familiar and he knew exactly what it felt to experience this. He just— fuck he just wanted Clint to not feel that.

Clint drags his hands through his hair and the tears start to pour out of his eyes almost instantly. 

“What— What,” he tries to say but clearly the words are caught in his throat.

Clint starts pacing. His eyes dart everywhere, as if he can’t hold in the panic and nerves. Bucky stands up slowly this time and comes in front of him.

“Barton you’re okay. We’re in Stark’s Tower, in your quarters. I’m here with you,” he tells him as calmly as possible. All the while Clint backs down to the wall behind him, like he can’t have Bucky in his personal space. Bucky respects it and stays a few steps away, leaving Clint to slide down the wall and sit on the floor.

“This is. This is not—” Clint mumbles before taking his head between his hands and resting them on his knees.

Bucky eases himself down on the floor in front of Clint, still a good distance away.

“It’s okay,” he tries reassuring him again but this time Clint’s eyes dart to Bucky and hold his look.

“No,” Clint says with panic still in his voice. “Not fucking okay, I— I killed. Aw fuck.” His breathing is labored again and Bucky is afraid he’s going to dissociate again. 

“Barton, look at me.” Bucky tries to get his attention. “Look at me. You gotta let it out. Whatever it is. Anger, terror, scream if you need to. Don’t hold it in.”

“No,” Clint almost whimpers, “no I can’t.” But the tears are already falling again against his cheeks.

Bucky gets a little closer, still not invading Clint’s space but close enough to be a reassuring presence, he hopes. To shield him from the world, from this empty space that isn’t home.

“Clint, let it out. Cry, cry as much as you want, alright? It’s okay, if you have to.”

“It’s not okay,” Clint whines again. His crying has pretty much turned into sobs, he’s barely able to take a breath.

Bucky comes closer again, putting a tentative hand on Clint’s forearm, just to try and gauge his response to touch. He strokes his thumb a little against the goosebumps on Clint’s skin. Clint doesn’t even flinch. The sobs turn a little erratic and Bucky has to do something. He puts his flesh hand on the nape of Clint’s neck and set his forehead on Clint’s to murmure, low and deep. 

“Take a good breath Clint, follow me, alright? Deep breathes.”

Clint trembles under Bucky’s hand and he doesn’t follow Bucky’s instructions yet. It takes him a little moment so Bucky waits, keeps telling him he’s here, that he’s allowed to feel all this, that he can cry, he has to cry if he needs to. After a few long minutes, Clint has finally set his breathing to Bucky’s rhythm and Bucky feels a little bit of relief washing over him. That’s until suddenly tremors go through Clint’s body hard and fast and Bucky has to lean back a little.

“Oh God, fuck. They’re all fuckin’ dead—” Clint says with a trembling voice and he hits his head back against the wall, one hand coming to cover his face and the other balled in a fist pressing against his chest.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bucky puts his hands on his shoulders and tries to catch his eyes. “Clint, Clint, just focus on me for a second, please, come on. Focus on me,” he says his last pleading last words in a murmur which seems to get Clint’s attention. He removes his hand and opens his eyes. The hurt and pain in them is so easy to read that Bucky almost wants to launch himself forward and hold Clint in his arms to soothe all that suffering away. He just holds his look and talks as calmly as he can. 

“Good. Listen, I know it fucking hurts,” Bucky starts, but is cut off by a sobbing whine from Clint.

“You don’t fucking know,” Clint laments.

“Hey,” Bucky almost shakes Clint, “I know. I’m probably the only one here that knows what it feels like to remember those you killed, those lives, the—” Bucky has to stop himself. “Clint, I know. I’m here. You can speak to me. You can cry as much as you want. You’re safe.”

Clint’s breathing slows down a little as he focuses on Bucky’s words, on his lips, on his face. Bucky takes a deep breath and Clint follows him. They take a few breathes in and out together, and Bucky can’t stop the small smile forming on his lips.

“That’s good, that’s real good,” he says quietly.

Clint’s brows furrow and fresh new tears start falling from his shiny, blue eyes. But this time he’s almost calm, his chin wobbles, he tries covering his face again, so Bucky gathers him in his arms.

“Com’here. Let it out, it’s okay,” he whispers against Clint’s ear and the man sags against Bucky’s body. He lets the soldier hold him almost sitting on his lap, his body sinking against Bucky’s. Bucky lets Clint cry, for as much as he needs, for as long as it takes. There’s no more panic, no more fear, it’s just the pain. There’s nothing he can say to ease the pain. 

Bucky doesn't say anything anymore, just holds Clint. He’s just there, strong and present. 

After a few long minutes of silence, when Clint has seemingly calmed down and Bucky is almost sure he has fallen asleep from exhaustion in his arms, Bucky maneuvers to gather Clint in his arms and lifts himself up. Clint’s arms come naturally around Bucky’s neck but when Bucky looks down his eyes are still shut. Bucky starts walking towards the bedroom when Clint says something against his shoulder he can’t hear.

Bucky stops in the middle of the room. 

“What did you say?” He asks quietly.

“Not the bedroom,” Clint repeats, barely above a whisper. “Please, not the bed.”

Bucky nods and turns back to settle Clint on the couch. His arms go limp and fall down, that’s when Bucky gets a furtive feeling of missing Clint’s body heat against his own but he chases the thought away quickly.

He covers Clint with the purple blanket and kneels down level to his face. Clint opens his eyes and looks at Bucky. His eyes are so red and raw, Bucky almost gets up to get a wet cloth from the kitchen when Clint starts talking.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is small and vulnerable.

“No.” Bucky immediately kneels back down to Clint’s level. “No reason to be sorry here, alright?”

“I put snot all over your t-shirt.” Clint makes an adorable grimace.

Bucky looks down to the wet spot on said shirt. “Then you owe me to do my laundry, how that sounds?”

Clint huffs a laugh but it’s weak. His eyes flutter shut for a second and reopen again.

“You gotta sleep, Clint. Don’t fight it, okay? Just like the tears.”

“I see them.” Clint’s gaze holds onto Bucky. “Everytime I close my eyes.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees and takes a deep breath, “you’ll keep on seeing them for a while.”

“That’s not very comforting.” 

There’s a tiny, tight smile on Clint’s face. Bucky can’t stop himself and combs his fingers through Clint’s hair, his thumb coming to his forehead to soothe the lines of his furrowed brows. 

“It’s the truth, unfortunately,” Bucky whispered.

Clint’s worried lines start to fade as he relaxes. He holds onto Bucky’s gaze for a few minutes longer. He fights falling asleep, Bucky can see it. He can’t stop him so he just stays, caresses Clint’s hair and focuses on breathing deeply to set a rhythm.

After a few minutes, Clint’s eyelids close and Bucky stays for a long moment just watching him, waiting until Clint’s clearly sleeping. Then he gets up, makes sure the blanket is tucked in, and closes the door quietly as he leaves.

* * *

Sleep doesn’t come easy for Bucky either that night. He’s woken up by nightmares a couple of times. He knows it’ll pass. It always does, even if he knows it can come back anytime. But it doesn’t matter now. Now he needs to make sure Clint is coping and dealing with all that shit. He can help him. He knows he can and he wants to. Even if it means that the nightmares will be back.

Eventually he falls back asleep because he is woken up by the buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He pats down blindly until his fingers find the device. The light of the screen makes him squint at the name displayed. It’s Steve.

“What?” Bucky answers hoarsely.

_“Hello to you too, sunshine,”_ Steve chimes in.

“Ha ha.” Bucky fakes a laugh.

_“Did I wake you up?”_

“Yeah, ‘course you did.” Bucky tries to crane his neck to look at the clock on the nightstand. 

_“It’s 11am, Buck. I didn’t think you’d still be asleep, I’m sorry,”_ Steve says with a sudden concern.

“Mhm.” Well shit, he fell back asleep longer than he thought. The events of yesterday and his shitty night must have exhausted him. 

He really needs to check on Clint. He left him on his couch around seven the night before. Clint must not have slept up until now, that’s for sure.

_“You alright, Buck?”_ Steve’s voice bears a hint of worry that stings like the familiar pain of a memory. 

“Yeah, yeah. Rough night,” he manages to keep his voice even.

_“Want me to come over?”_

“No, it’s okay. It’s just…” He hesitates. He doesn’t want to explain to Steve, doesn’t want to put Clint on the spot here and talk about what happened. But at the same time, it’s Steve. He trusts Steve. He wants to talk to Steve. He has missed it for so many years. Peggy has a good ear and she is— was— his only listening ear for a long, long time. Now Bucky has Steve back—and it might be selfish, but he has his best friend back, the only person that knows him better than everyone else. At least, the person he used to be. He really wants to talk to him about everything happening here.

“Barton is not doing so good,” he caves and says quietly. “I’m trying to help him cope with the shit Loki has done to him.”

Steve is silent on the other side of the line.

“Don’t worry, I’m fi—” Bucky starts, but Steve stops him.

_“Yeah, no I’ll worry, no matter what you say. Just be careful Bucky, don’t forget you’ve got your own trauma too and diving back into it won’t help Barton and won’t help you either.”_

Steve only knows half of the trauma he’s gone through, unless Peggy has told him more over the past days. He hopes not, he hopes they’ve been spending their days doing things other than talking about Bucky’s years of murdering innocent people. 

“I hear you, Stevie,” Bucky concedes, because his friend is right. “I’ll call if I need you. Promise.”

_“The offer still stands, I can come over. Actually, I called to ask if you wanted to have dinner with us tonight but I guess you’ll want to stay with Barton, so we can come over instead?”_

Seeing how he left Clint last night, he wasn’t sure he was up to having visitors. 

“I don’t think he’s there just yet. Let us have a bit of time together.”

Steve is silent again for a short second.

_“Be careful, Buck,”_ and there is something else in that warning, something that doesn’t mean _take care of yourself_ but more in the lines of _watch out not to fall for the guy_. 

“I know.” Yes he knows, he knows that wouldn’t be wise. He hopes Steve understands what he meant.

_“I’m here for you.”_ Steve’s voice is so earnest. God, Bucky has missed this punk so fucking much. He smiles despite himself.

“How are things with Peggy? Bet the accommodations are an improvement from the wet tent you last slept in in 1945?”

The laugh he gets on the other side of the line is like music to his ears.

_“Aw, man, I swear her house is incredible. Like this two-story penthouse in the middle of Park Avenue? It’s crazy, never seen anything like this before.”_ The lightness of the conversation is a welcome distraction to Bucky’s worries.

“Yeah, I know. I lived there for a while. It’s a nice place.”

_“Really swell, yeah,”_ Steve says pensively like he’s pondering on Bucky’s statement. Bucky is pretty sure Steve is going to ask Peggy about it. 

“Don’t break too much furniture while fucking around. Tony will be mad.”

Steve groans at that.

_“Shut up, jerk.”_

“Yeah, love you too, punk.”

There’s another silence. Bucky has never been more happy to bicker with someone in his life.

_“I’ve missed you, Buck.”_

Bucky’s heart is ready to explode. Dammit Steve. 

“Me too, Stevie.”

_“I’d really liked to come over someday. Soon.”_

It’s not really a question but Bucky wants to answer it anyway.

“I’ll let you know.”

They talk for a little while longer, mostly about Peggy and the effort of rescue and reconstruction in the city. Bucky wants to go there to help. He will. Right now he needs a bit of time to make sure Clint is okay. That he is okay, too. The nightmares, weirdly, were about those damn aliens and they unsettled him a little. Right now, selfishly, the comfort of the Tower is the only thing that matters. For him and for Clint.

* * *

It smells like coffee on the commonfloor which is an indication that Clint should be around. 

Bucky stops dead in his tracks when he gets a full view of Clint behind the kitchen counter. The archer is barefoot, wearing a pair of jogger pants that are too short for him and hanging far too low on his hips, and a grey hoodie Bucky knows is from the spare pile on the training floor. The hoodie is fully open to reveal Clint’s bare chest. Bucky is frozen in place. Jesus Christ, Clint is _hot_. How the fuck has Bucky not noticed before? 

His hair is still damp and there are wet spots on the fabric of both his pants and hoodie, and Bucky can’t stop staring. Is Clint even wearing underwear? Good mother of—

“Gonna keep staring or join me for a coffee?” 

Bucky snaps back to reality and forces his blood to come back to his brain.

He clears his throat. Clint twists to face him, his hip resting lazily on the counter, and takes a sip in the most ridiculous Iron Man helmet-shaped mug.

“No one dares to use that mug. It’s Tony’s,” Bucky tries to say in a normal voice. Hopefully he’s not failing. Because his brain is still having trouble catching up and only wants to count the number of abs on Clint’s stomach.

“Well, Stark’s not here. So I’m claiming this mug for myself.”

Bucky has to pass too close to Clint for his taste to get to the mug cupboard.

“Suit yourself, it’s really uncomfortable to drink from.”

“So you’ve used too?” Clint smiles above the rim of the mug. “Naughty.”

Nope. No, no no. Not helping. 

“You went to the training floor?” Bucky asks to derail the conversation somewhere safe.

Clint nods and finishes his coffee. 

“What about you? What did you do this morning?”

Bucky takes a short moment to take a good look at Clint’s face. He looks—well, not rested, that’s for sure—but somehow a little less haunted. And it’s a relief of some sort. 

“Slept,” Bucky answers honestly. “Shitty night.”

Clint looks down and winces so furtively that Bucky almost misses it.

“I get those sometimes. It’s not that bad,” Bucky tells him as a reassurance. “I know how to deal with it.”

Clint looks back up and sets the mug on the counter, wraps one hand around it and fiddles with the cord of the hoodie with the other.

“I’m sorry if it’s because I freaked you out yesterday.” There’s a vulnerability in his tone but no shame. 

“No need to be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, well, the guy I blame for it is on another planet, so I get to apologize.” Clint tries to joke but it falls flat.

“You get to be angry. It’s only fair.”

“None of this is fair.” Clint undoes the little ball he made of the cord. He looks more annoyed at himself than anything. “Fuck, I’m not usually self pitying like that. I just. I just don’t know how to deal with all this shit I have in my head.”

He sets his elbows on the counter and puts his head in his hands.

“One day at the time. There aren’t miracle solutions to being brainwashed and used by an evil alien asshole.” Bucky is blunt, but he doesn’t want to sugarcoat it. He owes that to Clint.

Clint doesn’t say anything for a while and Bucky goes through the fridge.

“Wanna eat something?”

“Actually. Yes. Shooting at the range worked up my appetite.”

Bucky watches him for a second too long and his brain catches up with his mouth just before he says _worked me up pretty good too_. He goes back to preparing their lunch. 

“First time going back down there?”

“First time, period,” Clint says as he takes his mug for a refill. “Never been down to the range before. Never been inside this Tower until three days ago, actually.” He looks at the empty coffee pot. “Aw, coffee no,” he whispers, and it’s the most adorable thing Bucky has ever heard. 

They talk about the range and the training facilities while they eat tuna sandwiches. Clint is more talkative today. Bucky takes it as a good sign. He still flirts a bit, and at some point zips up the hoodie half way and it’s actually worse. For some reason it makes Bucky’s desire to rake his nails on his chest even stronger now that he only gets a peek. 

He shakes the feeling while he is doing the dishes. When he looks back, Clint is playing a game on his phone.

Clint notices Bucky checking up his phone.

“It’s Kwazy Cupcakes,” he explains. When Bucky hums in response, Clint smiles at him like when he’s about to tease. “It’s a gam—”

“I know what Kwazy Cupcakes is.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Nice. Surprising for a 90 year old,” Clint jokes back.

“I’m not 90 years old.” Clint’s smile isn’t leaving his lips. “Theoretically,” Bucky concludes.

“Do you know what Grindr is?”

Bucky freezes in the middle of drying off his hands on a cloth.

“Yes,” he answers slowly. “I know what Grindr is. Where you goin’ with that?”

“Oh so it _was_ you.” Clint puts the phone down on the counter and settles his chin on his palm as he watches Bucky with a glimmer in his eyes. “James B. Broodily looking in the camera in your bathroom mirror in a crop top. It’s a good pic. Definitely piqued my interest.”

Bucky’s pretty sure his cheeks are turning crimson right now. He can feel it but he’s got nothing. No come back, no need to deny what Clint saw. 

Bucky looks down at his phone sitting on the counter next to Clint’s with panic. He had removed the app after a couple of disastrous conversations that both ended with guys sending him dick pics. 

Natasha was the one to install the app on his phone and set up the account, using a terrible photo of him glaring at her from the couch in one of her safe houses —Bucky was one hundred percent sure she would never invite him to her actual place. She was always trying to set him up with random girls until she realized that was not his personal preference. She even took him to a gay bar in Soho a couple of years ago where he hooked up in the bathroom with a guy who clearly did too much crossfit. He hadn’t been terrible but Bucky never repeated the experience.

The thing is, he did remove the app, how come Barton has seen his picture? 

He must look puzzled enough to make Clint snicker. 

“You know your profile doesn’t disappear when you remove the app from your phone, right?”

The fire on his cheek is spreading, fast. What a fucking joke. 

“Yes, I know that,” he briskly says before clearing his throat. “Gotta go. Catch you later? Movie?”

Clint is still smiling like a moron, clearly happy with making Bucky so damn uncomfortable. Why is the man always trying to rile him up? Honestly Bucky doesn’t want to think about it too much or he’ll do something he regrets. Like zipping open that stupid hoodie and licking his way down the light brown happy trail he now knows Clint has.

As soon as Bucky gets into the elevator to his floor he proceeds to reinstall the app.

“J? How do I fucking delete a profile on a dating app?” He asks, trying not to think too much of Clint’s smug smile. As annoying as he is, Bucky has imprinted the curves of his lips in his brain and now it’s all he can think about. 

* * *

The evening is more quiet than their lunch. Thankfully Clint has put on some decent clothes. Bucky was ready to head back to his room if by any chance Clint had still been sporting the joggers and sweatshirt. He was only human, after all. Sort of.

Earlier in the afternoon he’d received a text from Natasha, asking about Clint. Bucky answered that he was doing as fine as he could be, and that he was handling it. When he asked when she was coming back, she just texted back _“a few weeks.”_ He never got a response after that.

“You heard from Natasha?” He finally decides to ask Clint halfway into Star Wars episode… something. He lost track after all the explaining Clint gave him beforehand. There are too many movies in that franchise and clearly it’s an issue, Clint was adamant that they couldn’t watch episodes 1, 2 and 3, before episode 4. Which still made no sense. But honestly Bucky didn’t care as long as it made Clint somehow happy.

“Yeah,” Clint tells him, eyes still glued to the flat screen. He’s rolling a beer bottle between his fingers. “Talked to her on the phone this morning.” Clint climbs up on his knees, turns around to balance his upper body on the couch’s back and throws the beer bottle in a small trash can located ten feets away. Of course it lands inside it perfectly.

When he slumps back down on the couch, he’s practically leaning on Bucky. Their knees and shoulders are touching. Clint doesn’t move away, which makes Bucky’s stomach do a weird flip flop that he both loves and hates.

“She said that she wouldn’t be back for a few weeks,” Bucky casually continues. 

He feels Clint shrugging against his shoulder. “I told her she could stay there if she needed. That you’ve been taking good care of poor old me. That-” He hesitates, “that it was all good.”

Bucky watches Clint’s profile. He doesn’t know what to say so he goes back to watching the movie.

Clint quickly falls asleep and Bucky doesn’t want to move him so he finds an abandoned sofa throw to tuck around him. He leaves him there after the end of their second movie.

* * *

A couple of days go by, slow and without any major incidents. But at some point JARVIS informs Bucky that Clint is starting to have a panic attack, and when Bucky gets to Clint’s quarters, he’s sitting on the floor behind his counter.

Bucky slides down next to him. The archer seems calm now but there are visible traces of the bad moment on his face. His eyes are red and haunted, the tear streaks on his cheeks are still visible. But he’s breathing normally and barely shaking.

“JARVIS sold me out?” Clint says after a long moment of silence where Bucky allowed him to talk if he needed to.

“You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here.”

A ghost of a smile draws on Clint’s face. 

“I’m serious, Clint. We can have JARVIS call me when he notices signs of a panic attack. If you want me here, that is,” Bucky speaks with the soft voice he used to address Steve with when they were kids and his friend was sick.

“I want to be able to handle it by myself.”

“Might take a while. In the meantime I’m here, okay?”

Clint nods. Bucky waits a moment again, to let Clint talk if he wants to. When he doesn’t, Bucky gets up and offers him his hand.

“Let's get off the floor. You wanna take a nap?”

“Nah,” Clint answers as Bucky lifts him up to his feet. “I kinda wanna go shoot at things.”

“Will targets do?”

“It’s no Asgardian diva, but it’ll do.”

That’s how they end up training and shooting at the range at least once a day. It’s a good outlet for Clint. And Bucky has to say he’s not disappointed to watch the archer excel with his bow. There’s something mesmerizing to witness him shoot arrow after arrow and never miss. It’s like a dance. Like when Natasha is fighting. They have some things in common, these two.

* * *

Bucky has lost the track of the days a little. It’s the first time in years, decades even. He has let down his guard and for the past week or so, he’s allowed himself to slow down. 

Obviously he’s done this for Clint’s sake, and if there’s an emergency and the team needs to assemble, he knows they will both go, heads first. Meanwhile, though, he lets the routine of their days together set the pace.

They are on the commonfloor, sitting next to each other on the couch and playing Mario Kart —the superiority of the game to Zelda finally proven when Clint loses for the fifth time in a row.

“This game sucks,” Clint declares and throws the controller on the coffee table in defeat. 

“It’s awesome.” Bucky grins at him and Clint answers by sticking out his tongue like a four year old. 

Bucky laughs because he’s become completely weak when it comes to Clint’s charms. Even if his charms consists of stupid childish jokes, flirting like an asshole, and falling on his face —the bruise on his jaw has started to fade and is becoming a weird green and yellow combination. Bucky still finds him incredibly attractive, but no one has to know.

“I’d rather play Kwazy Cupcakes all night and have weird dreams about it afterward,” Clint concludes. “Speaking of which,” he says as he turns his head to Bucky with that now too familiar smirk.

“Aw shut up. I reinstalled the app and deleted my profile. You happy now?’

Clint smiles bright and big, one of those toothy earnest one that gives Bucky a smile of his own.

Clint’s smile falls down a little and he looks contemplative. 

“Why were you on Grindr in the first place, by the way?”

Yeah, Bucky had braced himself for the conversation. The fact that he was gay wasn’t a very well known fact. It was not in the history books— and it’s not like he was hiding or something, but he wasn’t shouting it from the rooftops, either. 

“Natasha made me. I didn’t particularly like receiving dick pics after a couple of messages, though. Fucking rude. I didn’t want to see their sad, tiny dicks.”

Clint snorts loudly. 

“Why are _you_ on Grindr?” Bucky asks in return. He has been curious to find out if Clint is gay too. Just to know him better, that’s all, no other agenda behind this question.

“Same reason as pretty much everyone. Find hookups?” He phrases it as a question, like he’s not sure Bucky still understands the concept of the app. “You know, receive a couple dick pics. If they aren’t tiny or sad, meet up to eventually suck ‘em.”

Bucky’s own dick quickly wakes up at Clint’s words. Nope. No, still not a good idea.

“So you’re gay?” Why, _why_ was he still asking questions? That was a very good answer, very clear, very precise. No need to dive into the subject even more, you traitorous mouth. 

“Not exactly, no,” Clint shrugs. “I like both genders, no genders. It doesn’t really matter as long as the person is attractive to me. I grew up in the circus, a lot of us were pretty queer so it was easy to explore. I realized pretty soon that I liked exploring. A lot,” he punctuated the last words with a visible curl of his tongue.

“The circus?” Bucky asked, his eyes drawn to the movement. “You were in the show?”

Clint spreaded out his hand to mimic a big show title. _“The sensational Hawkeye!”_ He declared in a theatrical voice that makes Bucky snicker. “ _The world's greatest marksman_. Don’t make fun of me. I am the world’s greatest marksman.”

“Depends on the weapon.”

“Is that a dare?” Clint lifts his eyebrow in defiance. 

“Might be,” Bucky answers. 

“And what about you?” 

“Never been in the circus. Just a HYDRA puppet. It wasn’t pleasant, nor did it get me laid.”

Clint shakes his head with a smile. Bucky is kind of glad he can joke about this with Clint. There are not a lot of people who can handle those types of jokes about his past. Usually it made people very uncomfortable, but Clint doesn’t seem to be. 

“I wouldn’t have imagined that the infamous James Barnes was queer,” Clint clears up.

“Yes. James Barnes is very much gay,” Bucky acknowledges. “Have been since the forties, never been a secret. But the movie that came out in ‘96? The Captain America one with Keanu Reeves playing me?”

“Oh yeah, I know that movie,” Clint gushes. “Where he was a ladies man? Like he gets all the gals when Steve Rogers is small and sickly, and keeps on setting him up on dates to end up with both girls.” Clint is glowing as he says this, and Bucky isn’t sure he wants to hear why. Even if he knows he does.

“Yep that very one. Gave me this reputation. Which, if you speak with Steve he will tell you that I dragged him to more pansy bars than dancing halls back then.” There’s a hint of Brooklyn accent in his voice that Bucky can’t stop from coming out.

“Okay, okay,” Clint turns towards Bucky on the couch, and he’s very aware that they are far closer than he is comfortable with for this conversation. “Since we’re, you know, sharing.

Can I confess something?”

Clint clearly is waiting for Bucky to answer something, although he will tell him anyway.

“Yeah?” Bucky says, a little worried. 

“I jerked off _so much_ to Keanu Reeves in those tights and tiny shorts,” Clint reveals and Bucky chokes on his own saliva. “What? I was 16! He was hot,” Clint concludes with his signature smirk. 

God, Bucky really, really wants to kiss that stupid smirk. And imagining Clint jerking off to a knock-off version of himself was. Not. Helping.

“Did you and Rogers, ever...?” Clint asks, Bucky answers with a throaty laugh.

“No, no. God, never. But he experimented a little.” Bucky wasn’t sure Steve would be too thrilled that he’d spilled his secret to Clint Barton, but Steve’s alive and well and probably getting laid as he speaks, so Bucky’s allowed to entertain his crush with Captain America’s secrets. “But he’s desperately straight. Never batted an eye when he had to play look out in the alley when I was with a guy, though. Which, you know, was helpful considering I would have got arrested if they caught me.”

“That must have sucked.” Clint sounds a little more serious.

“Yeah it did.”

“Did you ever dress up?” 

“No, I only was there for the show. And the fellas.” 

“Too bad.” Clint leans back against the couch on his side and watches Bucky far too intensely for his taste. “You’d look great in tights and tiny shorts.”

It was starting to be hard to breathe for Bucky, under Clint’s gaze.

“Probably,” Bucky says as he holds his eyes. “I got better thighs than Keanu Reeves.”

“You do,” Clint almost purrs. 

Suddenly the mood shifts. Something heavy settles in the air between them. Clint’s eyes never waver, never leave Bucky’s until they dart at his lips. He’s very close. He’s too close. Bucky would just have to move a few inches to crush his lips against his. But he doesn’t.

Bucky waits for Clint to make the first move. He can’t read wrongly into this. Clint is clearly flirting, has been for days. Bucky still thinks it’s a terrible idea but his cock has been leading his brain ever since Clint had talked about sucking dicks.

Clint shifts and Bucky is hyper aware all of a sudden. The blond gets closer. Bucky sucks in a breath which distracts Clint’s gaze to his mouth.

“I want to kiss you,” Clint says firm and breathy.

Bucky barely takes his time to think about it. “Okay,” he answers back.

A second later, Clint is kissing him. It’s surprisingly slow and soft. Still terribly good.

Clint draws back and forth a few times, still touching his lips and when he has Bucky desperate for more, Clint leans back to watch him.

Bucky has no idea what Clint sees, but there is a brand new smirk on his face. One that screams lust and desire and Bucky gets hard in an instant.

“J?” Bucky calls the AI, without stopping to look at Clint. He wants to grab him by the collar of his denim shirt and pull him down to bite that fucking smirk off his face.

_“Yes, Mister Barnes?”_

“Can you cut out the surveillance feed please?”

_“I took the liberty to do so fifteen minutes ago, sir.”_

Clint laughs and bites his lower lip. That’s enough to put Bucky in motion. He grabs the back of Clint's head with his metal hand to pull him into a bruising kiss. The moan that Clint makes when Bucky’s tongue makes its way between his lips resonates all the way down his spin.

Bucky barely has the time to put his hand on Clint’s back to pull him closer than the archer is already climbing in Bucky’s lap. 

* * *

They haven’t moved from the couch, Clint is still stradling Bucky’s lap while the soldier is buried inside Clint. They rock together in rhythm, slow and deep. There’s nothing left of the bruising and rough kisses and touches that they started with now.

Bucky had made sure Clint was ready, was on board with what he wanted to do to him. Clint is looking at him now, eyes wide, pupils dilated, incredibly beautiful and wrecked in a way Bucky had no idea Clint could. He is pliant, moulding himself against Bucky. There is something so trusting in the way he let Bucky hold him, fuck him. 

Bucky wants to treasure it. He wants to make him feel good. He wants to hang the fucking moon if it will get this genuine and soft expression on Clint’s face again.

Bucky’s hand reaches for the nape of Clint’s neck and pulls him down, trapping Clint’s cock between their stomachs. The friction makes Clint whimper. Bucky chases the sound with his tongue and kisses Clint as he continues to roll his hips and thrusts inside him hard, but taking his time to build up Clint’s orgasm.

Clint’s muscles start fluttering around Bucky’s length and Bucky holds him in place as the tremors shake his body. Clint coats both their stomachs with his warm come as Bucky continues to thrust— once, twice, and then he’s gone too. Warmth and electricity runs through his body as he holds onto Clint’s shoulders with both hands.

* * *

They are both panting, sagged against each other on the couch, legs spreaded out and thighs touching. 

Clint’s come on his belly is starting to dry and feel uncomfortable but Bucky doesn’t have it in himself to get up. He is pretty sure his legs wouldn’t carry him just yet.

“Okay, that happened,” Clint says between heavy breaths. “I just got fucked by James Barnes.” 

Bucky laughs so suddenly that a loud snort escapes him.

“Does it hold up to your teenage expectations?”

“Well you’re no Keanu Reeves.” Clint rolls his head against the couch to look at Bucky. His gaze goes down from his thighs to his face with a satiated look that makes Bucky oddly proud. “But that’s even better.”

Bucky groans deep in his throat as he keeps looking at Clint. He can feel his cock fill up again. His refractory response has been reduced to pretty much a minute since he was experimented on.

Clint seems oblivious of the fact and turns back to contemplate his stomach.

“Yep. That’s turning gross. We should clean up.” And he stands up much to Bucky’s displeasure. Bucky gets a full view of Clint’s ass as he walks up to the kitchen area.

And his cock is responding very well to the sight. He doesn’t have time to wrap his mind around asking for a second round from Clint before a wet cloth lands right in the middle of his chest with a soggy sound.

Bucky cleans himself and pulls up his pants while Clint gets dressed.

They stand in front of each other for a short moment. Bucky knows this could turn awkward real quick. It doesn’t. 

Clint closes the few steps that separate them and gives him a lingering, chaste kiss. 

“Thank you,” he says against Bucky’s lips.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Bucky answers quizzically. 

There isn’t a real smile on Clint’s face but something reaches his eyes. He exits the kitchen without a word, leaving Bucky in the middle of the commonfloor with a hard-on and a sticky cloth in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been not been beta read. English is not my native language so I apologize for any mistakes or weird turn of phrases. I hope it's still okay though. Comments and kuddos are always always welcome <3

Sleep is easy that night. No nightmares, no insomnia. Bucky fell asleep as soon as his cheek touched the pillow. 

He is a little apprehensive to see Clint. At least they are alone. No one else in the Tower right now to make it more awkward than it already is.

When his thoughts dangerously turn to insecurity and doubts, Bucky climbs out of bed. There are no reasons yet to feel like this had been a mistake. It felt good. Natural, even. Like a progression in their relationship, even though it wasn’t the most wise decision Bucky has made in his life. But there were far worse ones. 

When Bucky walks into the commonfloor, Clint is already there. There is a faint smell in the air, like something had been burnt.

Clint is cooking, or at least it looks like he’s cooking. There is more swearing and clanging of pans and pots than actual cooking happening.

“What are you doing?”

Clint jumps out of his skin, a pan raised up ready to strike. 

“Fuck, Barnes. You scared the shit out of me.” Clint lifts his hand to his chest. “Can’t do that to a PTSD-ridden trained spy. I could have killed you.”

“I’m hard to kill,” Bucky jokes with a smug smile. “Are you… Cooking?”

“I was making breakfast.” The archer is trying to turn the stove on, while balancing the pot of coffee, and clearly he’s not going to make it to the end of this.

“Let me,” Bucky orders him as he takes the pot, sets it down, and moves Clint away from the stove holding him by the hips.

Clint is wearing ridiculous Pokemon pajama pants and a worn-down t-shirt that says _“I’m with stupid.”_ There is also a bandaid on his brow bone. He lets out a frustrated groan.

“What were you trying to make?” Bucky squints at the display of ingredients all over the counter. He can spot taco shells and a Kraft Macaroni & Cheese Dinner box which is, well, puzzling. 

“Not sure yet.” Clint shuffles his feet. His hair is spiking everywhere and he looks so damn adorable that Bucky smiles despite himself. Aw, hell. This is a mess.

“And what happened there?” Bucky points at the bandaid on Clint’s brow.

“You sure you wanna know?”

“Should I?”

“Meh.” Clint shrugs, without an ounce of embarrassment for his clumsiness.

“So, what about an omelette?” Bucky asks. He is getting used to Clint’s mysterious injuries by now.

“Actually,” Clint starts, but he almost hesitates to continue. Yeah, Bucky had braced himself for _the_ _talk_ ever since waking up. “Can we talk?” Here they go.

“Sure,” he answers with a warm smile. 

Clint looks around apprehensively before he speaks.

“Can we. Can we go outside for a minute?”

“Of course,” Bucky says and follows Clint through the floor-to-ceiling glass door that opens to the helipad.

Clint sits down on the edge of the landing. A ball of nerves forms at the bottom of Bucky’s stomach. He isn’t afraid of heights, per se, but ever since his memories of falling down the train had come back, he hasn’t been very comfortable on higher ground.

He sits beside Clint nonetheless, letting his legs dangle dangerously in the void. There’s another balcony on the lower floor, so it eases up his nerves a little. 

“Listen,” Clint immediately starts. “What happened last night, it was—great, fucking good. And— okay I’m not used to pouring out my feelings and shit like that, but you— you took care of me this week, real good care,” Clint says in one go, and Bucky wants to interrupt him because Clint’s been trying very hard with everything happening to him and Bucky can’t let him think that he did all the work. But Clint won’t let him talk. “Shut up Barnes, okay? You’re gonna have to listen because if you stop me I might not have the courage to tell you what I wanna tell you, alright?” 

Bucky nods and shuts his trap. He desperately wants to hear what Clint has to say.

“Like I said it was, huh great. I actually—“ he groans and passes his hands over his face. Bucky can read the heartache written all over Clint’s features. He wants to reach out, touch him, reassure him. But he can’t. He has to let him say what he needs to say. “I never felt more— I haven’t felt more alive than last night in weeks.”

Clint’s eyes bore into his. Bucky can’t look away.

“I don’t know how to say it but you— your touch. Your hands and your lips. It gave me back a bit of myself. I’m very, very grateful for it,” he takes a deep breath. “I liked it, a lot. But—”

Clint pauses for a second again, and this is it. Disappointment is building up in his chest. He knows it shouldn’t. He has no right to Clint. But still.

“I don’t know what I can offer you. I don’t have anything else to give to you. Not now. Probably not ever,” Clint concludes with sadness.

“I’m not asking for anything.” Because Bucky has to try. 

“Well, good, ‘cause I really don’t think this is going anywhere. I can’t give you that. I don’t think we should… keep going. I don’t know.” There is doubt in his voice. But Bucky understands. He doesn’t have much to offer either. It’s not like they can start a relationship. Not when they are both so traumatized and hurt and barely able to handle their own feelings. Bucky is better. Has been for a while. But he still struggles with self-hatred, with depression. With all the lives he took with his bare hands. He is not a good man. Hasn’t been since the war. Clint doesn’t deserve that.

“I understand,” Bucky offers.

Clint is searching his face, he is looking for something. There is no answer if he finds it.

“Good, good,” he says finally. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll never do something you don’t want to.”

“Trust me, there’s nothing you did last night that I didn’t want,” he snorts. “I don’t know if it won’t happen again. Thing is, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to resist you.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. He could have said the exact same thing. 

“You’re stronger than you think.”

“And you’re hotter than _you_ think,” Clint answers almost smugly.

Bucky ducks his head. He has never believed that. Not since HYDRA altered his body and his head anyway. But he kind of wants to when it’s Clint telling him.

“It won’t happen again,” Bucky decides with a nod.

* * *

Of course it happens again.

A few hours later they are on the training floor. Bucky is running down the treadmill, trying to wear himself out because Clint emerged from the lockers with his combat gear and he looked so fucking good in black and purple that Bucky almost blew a fuse at the sight. 

Clint joins him after he shoots up at the range for a while. He looks rumpled, sweaty, and his biceps are in full view, hard and smooth from hours of practice.

The archer puts down his weapon of choice and looks at Bucky’s machine controls, brushing against Bucky’s flesh arm.

“You’ve been running for two hours. Aren’t you at least a little tired?” He smirks, probably close enough to count every drop of sweat from Bucky’s temples.

Bucky slows down and stops the machine. His legs are burning, but that’s nothing in comparison with the way he wants Clint.

Clint licks his lips and watches him intently. Goddammit. Bucky goes down from the treadmill and crowds Clint until he backs him up on the mirrored walls.

Clint visibly swallows and Bucky follows the movements of his throat. He all but launches himself to attack Clint’s skin just there with his mouth.

The sound that escapes Clint is downright obscene and Bucky’s cock responses to it vehemently. 

They fumble to the changing room, never breaking the kiss, and soon their clothes are out of the way. Bucky manhandles Clint against the lockers, turns him around and grabs his length as he rubs himself against his ass. 

The only sounds are groans and moans until Clint finally speaks.

“You fucking reek, Barnes,” his hoarse voice managed to say.

“Yeah? Something you can do about it now?” Bucky answers, almost menacingly, and shoves Clint against the lockers none too gently to show him that he can’t move even if he wanted to.

Clint whimpers in response. Isn’t that interesting.

“Shower,” he mumbles between heavy breaths. “Shower, now.”

As soon as the water is on, Clint is on his knees and licks at Bucky’s cock. The next few minutes are a complete blur. Bucky hasn’t had a blow job in years—decades, probably—and it feels so damn good he is ready to collapse when Clint is done with him. The archer is up on his feet to hold him up. He shushes him and caresses his damp hair as he trails kisses behind his ears.

“I got you,” he whispers and Bucky almost laughs, would laugh if he had the strength. He should be the one that says that. He should be the one supporting Clint. Not the other way around.

And yet here he is, in Clint’s arms completely exposed, defenseless. 

Clint is still hard and pressed against his thighs but he doesn’t move. He lets Bucky recover.

When Bucky looks at Clint, all he sees is deep blue eyes, swollen lips and a hint of pink tainting his strong jaw. He brings his flesh hand to Clint’s cheek and strokes the stubble there.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes. 

Clint presses against Bucky and his eyes open up, startled. He looks down.

“You’re… still hard,” he states in a daze.

“Mmhmm,” Bucky confirms. He feels like he has been hard ever since he saw Clint in that hoodie the other day.

“That’s pretty handy.”

“I’ll show you handy,” Bucky retorts and wraps his metal fingers around Clint’s cock.

The blond’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “Oh fuck, yes.” He grabs a handful of Bucky’s hair and drops his head on his good shoulder.

Bucky moves quickly, deftly. He has always been good at handjobs. Years and years of practice in bar alleys and war tents. Some things are like riding a bike apparently.

“Yes, Buck, yes,” Clint hisses and Bucky doesn’t have time to process what the nickname in Clint’s mouth does to him that Clint is biting into his skin, hard.

In a swift motion that doesn’t allow Clint to realize what is happening to him, Bucky shoves him around on the shower tiles. 

“Now, who’s got who?” There is definitely lust and possessiveness in his voice. But this isn’t just that. Bucky wants Clint to feel good again. To feel alive.

The other man melts under Bucky’s weight pining him.

“Yes,” he begs. “Yes please Buck.”

“Hush,” Bucky murmurs near his ear. “I’ve got you,” as he soothes his hand along Clint’s side. 

* * *

Bucky feels like he is going through the next few days in a daze of constant arousal. He has his hands on Clint every chance he gets. And Clint doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. At all. 

They start walking around in their boxers— easier access to skin and no lost time on removing clothes. There are barely any surfaces left in Clint and Bucky’s quarters that they didn’t do unspeakable things to each other on. 

After the euphoria of rediscovering his primal needs dissipates, Bucky starts noticing more things about Clint. The pad of his fingers are more callused on his right hand. He hasn’t shaved since the battle and somehow his stubble doesn’t seem to grow any longer than a few days worth. Clint’s from Iowa and has an older brother he mentioned briefly, by accident. He never spoke about him again. There are scars all over his body, a lot of them. One particularly long one runs across half his back. Bucky asked about it as he laid naked on top of Clint’s. He was idly tracing the scar with his finger when he asked about the story behind it, behind all of them. 

“We’ll be in bed all day if I start telling you about my scars,” Clint had answered. 

“You got somewhere else you need to be?” There was anywhere else Bucky _wanted_ to be. So he spent a couple of hours listening to the tales of Clint’s multiple injuries, kissing them as Clint went on until Clint was begging for Bucky to fuck him.

Clint has not asked about Bucky’s scars. About his arm. Bucky figures he must have read his SHIELD file and there are enough details he supposes. Clint might not want to pull on that thread. The thing is. The thing is Bucky is not against talking to Clint about the scars, about everything. It’s a strange feeling.

Now they are back into a domestic routine that is highly heightened by the fact that Bucky can touch and kiss Clint just as much as he wants.

Today though Bucky is wearing clothes. He experienced first hand that frying eggs half naked was not pleasant at all. So he wears clothes when he is cooking. Clint isn’t happy with that fact apparently. He is roaming his hands on Bucky’s abs under his shirt from behind.

“Barton, I’m trying to make lasagna here.” It’s not really a complaint, because Clint is now trailing kisses down his neck and playing with his nipple under the shirt. It’s getting really hard to focus on the bolognese. Other things are getting hard too.

Clint is about to open his mouth when JARVIS’ voice resonates in the large space around them.

_“Good afternoon Sirs. I wanted to give you a heads up that Mr Stark just entered the garage and is heading your way, along with Miss Potts.”_

Bucky’s head darts to the ceiling. “What? Why didn’t he call?”

“Well it’s his house. I mean his ivory tower. Don’t think he needs to ca—” Clint argues but Bucky stops him and bats his hands away from under his clothes.

“Maybe you should put a shirt on?” Bucky asks. 

Clint is just wearing a pair of dark sweats that actually belong to Bucky. And he’s not wearing underwear dammit. How does Bucky know it? Well he’s witnessed first hand when Clint stole them from his dresser and put them on without bothering with boxers. When Bucky mentioned it, Clint just winked at him and smuggly said _“Fast Pass”_ before leaving Bucky’s bedroom.

“Why?” Clint asks in return.

“‘Cause you’re half naked and I'm not sure Tony is going to be happy seeing you like that in his kitchen?”

Clint shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him.

“Clint, please,” Bucky begs a little.

“I like it better when you call me Clint in bed.”

Bucky wants to groan, he wants to be annoyed. But Clint has this smirk Bucky likes to kiss away so it’s hard to be pissed. 

The thing is, Bucky isn’t ready to tell Tony or anyone else. He is not sure there is much to tell anyway. They haven’t really spoken since that day on the helipad but it seems clear that Clint doesn’t want a relationship. He hinted at it a few times, repeating that he can’t give that to Bucky.

And actually Bucky doesn’t care. Doesn’t care if all he will ever have with Clint is a few days of close proximity and nothing else. Doesn’t care if their little sexcapade is now over. Because he will have the memories of it for the rest of his life. It would be greedy to ask for more if that’s all Clint wants. Bucky doesn’t exactly deserve even half of what Clint gave him. His trust, his care and his body. This is already far more than Bucky has dreamt about in his too long life.

Bucky still glares at Clint for good measure and that draws an amused look on Clint’s face. The man leaves Bucky’s personal space and gets around the kitchen island to sit on a stool just in time.

“Bucket,” Tony shouts as he walks inside the kitchen. “Are you wearing purple?” He stops dead in his tracks as he takes Bucky’s outfit in.

“It’s lavender,” Clint answers for Bucky. Because yes, Bucky has been wearing Clint’s lavender linen shirt with light blue denim pants and it might be the most colorful outfit he has ever worn in the last sixty years. Clint said it brought out Bucky’s eyes, so. 

Tony is glaring at Clint now. “And why are you shirtless.” He looks down at the archer’s feet. “And barefoot, in my kitchen?”

“I thought this was the commonfloor.”

“The commonfloor of my own personal Tower, Barton. I see you’re getting very comfy here.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not that bad. I like the range a couple of floors down,” Clint comments.

Tony is ready to open his mouth to answer something probably very unfriendly to Clint so Bucky cuts short the argument.

“Welcome back Tony, how are you feeling?”

Tony resumes typing on his phone with one hand, the left one is still in the cast, as he walks past Bucky and leans on the counter. 

“Where did you have our things delivered? In the halls or directly in our suite?” A feminine voice asks from the door. 

Pepper walks in with a determined stride, as always. She’s wearing a white flowy blouse and beige casual chino pants that look incredibly comfortable, as well as flat shoes. 

“Bucky,” she exclaims when she sees him and gives him a quick but friendly hug. She knows he’s not exactly a hugger. “How are you?”

“Fine, I’m fine. How are you? You were in Miami when— Right?”

“I was on a plane to Washington but I flew to the West Coast a couple of days after, yes.”

“Good,” Bucky nods. Pepper is one of the few people around him that he trusts and feels this urgent need to protect at all costs. She’s a good and honest person and Bucky has known her ever since she started as an intern at SI, then becoming Tony’s assistant, now COO. It was hard not to want to keep her safe. 

“This is Clint Barton—” he starts to introduce Clint.

“Hawkeye, yes,” she says cheerfully and walks around to shake Clint’s hand. “I’m Pepper Potts.”

“I figured.” Clint wears one of his charming smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

Next to him, Bucky hears Tony talking. Something about driving in LA being a total nightmare, about being yelled at but Bucky loses focus when Pepper continues her conversation with Clint.

“Thank you for everything,” she tells him and puts her other hand above Clint’s, giving him a squeeze.

“What?” Clint asks quizzically. 

“What you did out there, with the rest of the team. Thank you, you saved millions of people.” The sincerity in her voice is unmistakable. Clint doesn’t react. He stays frozen, looking at her with a hint of panic invading his features. Bucky is ready to run to him, to reassure him, hold him, but everything else happens so fast.

“I didn’t—” Clint starts just as Pepper turns around to look at Bucky.

“Both of you actually. Sorry Bucky, thank you,” she nods at Bucky.

And suddenly the last words of Tony still babbling next to him get to his brain.

“... said yes and now we’re engaged,” he concludes. 

“What?” Bucky’s head wipes to look at Tony. “What did you just say?”

“You didn’t listen to any of this right? Have you been gazing at my fiancé?” Tony quirks an eyebrow but Bucky ignores him.

“You’re engaged?” Bucky asks Pepper instead of Tony.

She rolls her eyes but in this fond way she always has for Tony and the lopsided smile she displays mean a thousand words.

“We are.”

“Congratulations,” Clint tells her.

“Thank you.”

“So yeah, the wedding’s in February next year, not pending any alien invasions. You’re both invited obviously. And we’re probably doing it here, plenty of space and a hell of a view.” Tony waves arounds.

He gets down the counter and peaks into Bucky's long forgotten casserole.

“What’s this?”

“Bolognese,” Bucky says, still in a daze.

He has known both Tony and Pepper for so long. He knew. Of course he has always known they were meant to be but this feels so sudden. They just started seeing each other a few months ago and it was… well it did make sense after all. Tony almost died out there. Not for the first time in his life too. Sometimes you need a couple of nudges to move to the right direction.

Bucky takes a good look at Tony’s face. He looks happy. He really, really does.

“Oh man, no. We’re ordering,” Tony dismisses him. He also looks annoyed for some reason. Maybe because Bucky still hasn’t said anything about the engagement. Bucky is still processing.

“Barnes’ a good cook. You should give it a shot,” Clint comments.

“Yeah, yeah. He and I were roommates for a while but I want Pad Thai, not Italian.”

“Roommates?” Clint asks curiously and glances at Bucky. “Really? I’d like to hear about that.”

“Tony,” Bucky cuts them.

“Yep? What do you think? Thai? Do you think Sabai is open?”

“This is amazing news Tony.” The other man freezes. “I’m happy for you,” Bucky tells him earnestly as he puts his hand on his shoulder.

Tony looks down at the hand there and back at Bucky. “Huh, yeah. Great.”

Behind the island, Pepper and Clint exchange a look and Clint even whispers a soft “aww”. 

“I’m happy for you two,” Bucky finishes, glancing at Pepper. 

She gives him a bright, lovely smile and lowers her eyes. Tony’s cheeks are clearly turning red which, well, is probably a first for Bucky to get this reaction. He likes it. It warms him a little. He has never quite been able to reach Tony in the past. There were some exchanges here and there that were a little more meaningful but because of what Bucky did to his father and made Peggy do to survive, Tony has always been resentful. He couldn’t blame him, really. And always allowed him the space he needed between them. But deep down Bucky wants this relationship for his son’s friend to be different. 

“Alright, enough of the mushy mush mush. We have a reconstruction to prepare.”

Tony leaves the kitchen area and goes to sit on one of the overstuffed armchairs by the couch. Bucky eyes the couch for a split second. He is very glad Tony didn’t sit there. The memories of what Clint and him have done on this specific piece of furniture is still very much vivid in his mind.

“Reconstruction?” Bucky asks as he turns off the stove and sets the casserole on the side.

Pepper is ordering from Sabai on the phone, with Clint interjecting some plates they have to order. 

“I’m having constructors come over to fix the Tower. It’s a mess out there and so far we've just consolidated the structure so nothing will keep falling on people’s heads,” Tony explains.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that? Don’t you think you should focus on helping the rescue efforts in the city instead?” This does seem very selfish to Bucky, even for Tony Stark.

Pepper walks past Bucky to join Tony by the armchair and leans on it. “We’ve already set that in motion too. Stark Industries has donated 35 million dollars to the local government for the search and rescue efforts. We also lended as much workforce as we could spare to help on the ground, and engineers from R&D, to make sure we collect as safely as much Chitauri technology.”

Bucky nods a little to himself. Good, that was good. Somehow he feels a bit like an ass for not thinking they might already have joined the rescue efforts.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean–” Bucky started to apologize.

“S’alright,” Tony cut him without looking at Bucky. “Ain’t like I wouldn’t have been a selfish asshole back in the day and only thought about my precious Tower.” He lifts his head to look at Pepper. “She keeps me in check,” Tony concludes with fondness.

Pepper pats his cheek.

“I would agree with you usually but not this time. You donated the money without even consulting me.” 

She rests her hand on Tony’s cheek and the billionaire’s smile is small like he wants to hide it. There is no mistake that it should be blinding as the sun with the way he looks at Pepper. 

Bucky glances quickly to Clint who’s still sitting on the kitchen stool and nursing a cup of coffee. When in hell did he get it? Damn Bucky is trying to cut him from drinking coffee after 5pm.

Bucky sighs and gives Clint a pointed look to which he is answered by a ridiculous grin. 

“Enough about the Tower though. We have another topic to discuss,” Tony says and brings Bucky’s attention back to him.

“Which topic?”

“Mum and his new elderly toy boy are on their way. We’re having dinner to talk shop.”

“Oh.” 

Steve and Peggy are coming. This made Bucky realize that he hasn’t spoken to Steve in a few days and hasn’t thought of inviting him once in the last two weeks he’s been held up in the Tower. He was so wrapped up in his, well, not relationship with Clint that he almost forgot about his best friend. 

“Do we know where the Widow is?” Tony asks next.

“She should be in New York sometime tomorrow,” Clint answers straight away.

Bucky’s head wipes to watch him a little too quickly. Tomorrow? Why didn’t she tell him? Why didn't Clint say anything?

Clint is clearly avoiding making eye contact with Bucky. 

“The Avengers gig?” Clint interjects before Bucky has time to think too much about what it means. “That what you want to talk about?”

“We should, shouldn’t we? By the way,” Tony gets up and starts pacing. “You all better up there?” He asks Clint while gesturing his finger in a circle near his temple.

Clint shrugs. “Meh, still got nightmares but my eyes won’t turn blue and I won’t go on a killing spree if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Good, great,” Tony dismisses him. 

Bucky doesn’t hear what Tony is saying next. He watches Clint who’s hiding behind the coffee cup. His eyes dart to Bucky and back to Tony so fast that Bucky almost misses it. 

There isn’t one thing that Bucky likes in what Clint just said to Tony. But it’s not his place to talk about it. Clint has been open with him. Not extensively but they have spoken a few times about how Clint is handling the trauma of what Loki did to him. He has joked about it but never like this, never to defuse the conversation. At least Bucky is glad Clint is honest with him. He needs an outlet to speak about what’s eating him up.

“I’ll go put on some clothes, I guess.” Clint suddenly tells them and goes to set the mug in the sink.

“My God, yes please,” Tony begs and goes on about the Avengers Initiative. 

Bucky watches him leave the room. He wants to follow. He wants to ask if he’s okay. He wants to. Bucky doesn’t really know what he wants. 

With Pepper and Tony here, Steve and Peggy on the way and Natasha returning _tomorrow_ , it feels like Clint is slipping through his fingers. Like he’s turning to dust and Bucky’s going to lose him.

Fuck. That is not how this is supposed to go. He shouldn’t be wanting anything from Clint. That is not the deal they had. Although they don’t really have a deal, it’s just that Clint has been very clear about this. About them. He is not in for a relationship. So Bucky should quit his stupid pinning and pull his head out of his ass. 

“Sorry Tony, what were you saying?” Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “I was distracted.”

* * *

A few minutes later Steve, Peggy and the food arrive at the exact same time.

Bucky hugs Steve for a moment too long and he really doesn’t care about it. Steve is just as happy to linger and squeeze the air out of Bucky’s lungs. 

Peggy gives Bucky a kiss on the cheek and a look full of affection. She seems incredibly relaxed. Like he has never seen her before. She lounges herself next to Steve on the couch. _The couch_ , Bucky winces and looks away. 

There is no embarrassment in the way Steve and Peggy touch or behave with each other. Tony glares a little at first but soon enough he seems to forget about it. Or he just gets bored about pretending to be annoyed when clearly he should be happy for his mother. 

Clint has returned with a dark pair of jeans hugging his curves and a pale blue denim shirt that brings out his eyes. He is also wearing his boots much to Tony’s relief.

Steve gives him a warm welcome and Clint salutes Peggy with a finger to his forehead.

“Director Carter,” he welcomes her.

“You want me to call you Hawkeye all night?” She answers not as dryly as she could have.

Clint chuckles and sits next to Bucky at the table. They exchange a short glance. Bucky doesn’t know what to do about it but at least he is glad Clint’s behavior has remained the same with him. Kissing and touching aside of course.

They eat and talk and all in all it’s a very pleasant evening. Clint isn’t shy nor polite around them. He barely knows the people around the table beside Peggy but he’s not different than how he is with Bucky. Funny, charming and sarcastic. 

The evening wears down. Pepper asks Peggy for some help on certain rescue matters and wants to go to bed after that. Tony is finishing his whisky and typing on his phone, flat on the table with the fingers that poke out of his cast and completely ignoring Clint, Steve and Bucky.

Bucky is listening to Steve recount a story about a time they had to hide behind some bunker on a beach along the Belgian coast.

Bucky is idly taping with a spoon on the back of his metal hand. He doesn’t really recall that day. Some things from his past are a little fuzzy and will probably remain so. He has come to peace with it but he doesn’t really want to tell Steve tonight. Not with Tony and Clint in the room.

“Luckily I didn’t have the metal arm then. Sand gets everywhere between the plates,” Bucky says absentmindedly, still trying to remember that day. 

Clint gives a soft chuckle, Steve goes completely silent and Tony tapes his hand on the table before getting up like talking about the arm has just woken him up.

“About that if you want me to have a look at the toaster you call an arm, I’ll be in the lab,” he tells Bucky.

“No thanks,” Bucky answers. “It works perfectly and I don’t want you to come anywhere near it when you can’t use both your hands.”

“No malfunction since the battle?” Tony still asks, now serious.

“No, it’s fine.” Bucky crosses his arms.

“You sure, you got pretty nasty hits with–”

“Tony, it’s fine. No misalignment, no misconnection. I’m good.”

“Alright, whatever.” Tony waves dismissively and leaves without saying a real goodbye. 

It’s silent for a short minute before Clint speaks.

“Coffee anyone?” He says as he starts getting up.

Bucky puts his metal hand on his arm and gives him a look.

“No.”

“Yes,” Clint says back with a smirk.

“Clint,” Bucky warns him.

“Ooh, you _Clint-ed_ me,” Clint grins widely and turns to Steve. “I’m in trouble. I’m hoping for spanking.” He winks at Bucky.

“Jesus,” Bucky swears between clenched teeth and lets go of Clint’s arm. He is grateful no one else but Steve is here to witness Clint making dirty innuendos. It’s not the first one he has made tonight, luckily not all directed at Bucky so he assumes their secret non-relationship is still safe for now.

In any way Steve seems to be a million miles away. He’s looking at Bucky with something in his eyes. Sadness, worry, Bucky isn’t sure but he doesn’t like it.

“What is it pal?”

Clint goes to the kitchen area, probably for a coffee refill. Bucky has to choose his battles and right now Steve is more important than Clint’s coffee addiction. Bucky wonders if anyone will ever be more important in his life than Steve. Probably never. But somehow Clint seems getting closer and closer to that line. Which is terrifying.

“I didn’t want to ask, before. We didn’t have a lot of time.” Steve is watching his hands and seems suddenly uncomfortable.

“About the arm?” Bucky says kindly, inviting him to ask what he needs to.

“Yeah.” Steve shakes his head a little. “Sorry I don’t mean to pry.”

“You can ask me anything Stevie.”

Behind Steve, Bucky can see Clint sipping at his coffee and waiting to come back to the table to allow them the intimacy that conversation requires. 

“It just. It’s strange to know this is your arm now.”

“It has been for a while.”

“Not for me.”

Bucky nods and watches his palm, bright and shiny and smooth. It’s been a part of him for so long now, and at the same time it still feels completely foreign. 

“Does it hurt?” Steve asks him softly.

“Sometimes. Not as much as it used to. Tony helped in improving the neuro-paths. It’s much better.”

Steve’s eyes squint a little as he looks away and back at Bucky’s arm.

“Are you used to it?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Bucky answers softly. “You’ll get used to it too.”

Steve trails his eyes to the surface of his hand and forearm where the metal hides under Clint’s purple lavender shirt. 

“That shirt is really ugly,” Steve suddenly says with gravity.

“Hey!” Clint exclaims at the same time Bucky bursts into laughter. “I won’t stay here and have you insult my clothing choices. I’m going to my room.”

Clint leaves the mug on the counter and walks towards the exit.

“Aw come on, Barton,” Bucky calls after him, still laughing.

Clint flips the bird to both Bucky and Steve before exiting the commonfloor. 

“That’s Clint’s shirt?” Steve asks suspiciously. 

“Yeah, it’s my laundry day,” Bucky answers with confidence, although he knows it sounds absolutely bogus. “So now that we’re alone. How was your reunion with Carter?” He deflects the conversation with the only possible subject that will distract Steve.

* * *

Bucky stops in the corridor leading to his room. Three doors down is Clint’s. He stays standing there for a short moment before shaking his head.

He walks to his room, puts his hand on the lock pad and shuts the door close when he’s inside.

For a second he is disappointed not to see Clint on his couch, waiting for him. He tries to put the feeling away. He really does.

But he wants to see Clint. He wants to see him and talk to him and kiss him. He is not sure he’s allowed, which sucks. His brain is full of knots but one thing is for sure, it’s Clint’s decision, he has to respect it.

Everyone is pretty much back. They decided to continue this teaming thing as much as was needed. Tony’s Tower is going to be rebranded “Avengers Tower” and will become their base of operations. Everyone will have quarters and is welcome to live here full time if needed.

Bucky knows that realistically he will be the only one living here full time. He has lived with Tony and Peggy for a long time. He has a place upstate. It’s quiet and remote. But it’s also too far. He needs to be closer. He has no reason not to accept living in the Tower. He likes the Tower actually.

Clint will probably head back to Bed-Stuy. Why wouldn’t he.

They will meet for training, briefing and missions, Bucky supposes. Clint is still an agent of SHIELD too. So he might not join every time. He might be shipped off to God knows where for weeks at the time.

Natasha is coming back tomorrow. They will probably leave to report to SHIELD together. And Clint will. He will be gone. 

_Fuck_. Bucky passes his hand on his face and lets out a long sigh. This possibly is their last night.

He practically races to the door but when Bucky opens it, he finds Clint standing there. It’s almost as if he caught him with his hand mid-air before he had time to knock 

“Hey,” Clint says, a little perplex. 

“Hi,” Bucky is in a daze to see him here for a second.

“You gonna let me come in or you want me to explain to people why I’m knocking on your door at 11 at night?”

Bucky snorts, “sorry,” he says as he steps aside to let Clint in. The blond doesn’t take his place on the couch, nor goes to the kitchen or the bedroom. He hovers there, halfway to the living area. 

Bucky shuts the door quietly.

“Where were you going?” Clint asks right away.

Bucky ducks his head down a little and takes a long breath.

“What do you think?”

Clint’s small smirk is better than a billion words.

“This is weird.”

“What is?” Bucky says as he walks to the kitchen’s counter and leans against it, arms crossed on his chest. He hopes venturing inside the apartment will entice Clint to do so as well. Right now it feels like Clint wants to keep close to the door in case he has to get out running.

“Feels like goodbye,” Clint speaks quietly, looking at the floor.

There’s a pressure in Bucky’s chest, like his ribcage is trying to squeeze his heart. He clenches his jaw. No words manage to get out of his stupid mouth. 

A minute ago he was fearing this was their last night together. Clint just confirmed it.

“I just had a call with Fury,” Clint continues in the same quiet tone.

“Yeah?” Bucky’s mouth finally manages to say.

“Nat and I are flying out tomorrow to headquarters.”

Bucky exhales and nods.

“They huh,” Clint goes on as he walks toward the couch. Instead of sitting on it, he just leans on the back of it, facing Bucky from there, only six feet away, although it feels like a mile to Bucky. “They want me to see a psychiatrist.”

Clint’s voice isn’t his usual, Bucky has never heard this intonation. He sounds confused. Almost scared.

“It isn’t that surprising I guess,” Bucky answers carefully.

Clint breathes in and his hands come to his sides to take hold of the couch’s back behind him. His shirt stretches out around his biceps.

“I’ve never really seen a shrink, actually. I’m not super—” he pauses, uncertain, “I don’t know what to think of it.”

“It’s not a bad thing Barton, talking to someone,” Bucky speaks softly. “Might help you. SHIELD has good psychiatrists working for them. They know how to deal with trauma and the sort of things we encounter in our line of work.”

Clint lifts his head and carefully searches Bucky’s face.

“You say that like you know.” 

Bucky gives him a lopsided smile. “I do.”

He pushes himself from the kitchen counter and takes a few steps towards Clint.

“I was in therapy for a few years, after being rescued from HYDRA.”

There is a clear surprise in Clint’s eyes. He doesn’t ask but Bucky hears the question anyway.

“It helped me. Just being able to say “rescued” instead of something else, I learnt that in therapy. For a long time I felt responsible for being the fist of HYDRA, for all the killing and pain I inflicted. I’ve come to terms that I was a victim too thanks to Dr Herman.”

“Of course you were a victim,” Clint says bewildered. 

“Yeah, well, took me a few years to agree to that, and actually think about it.”

“Years? Do you still…?”

Bucky practically closes the distance between them. His toes are almost touching Clint’s. The archer doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.

“No. I haven’t talked with him in awhile. I thought about it after the battle. But I don’t think I’ll need him in the end.”

Now Clint looks fascinated. The sparkling blue eyes that Bucky has come to love being observed by are dancing on his face.

“It’s a good thing Clint,” Bucky continues after a moment of Clint remaining silent. “Even if you’re not completely ready, it’ll take a bit of time and maybe different psychiatrists before you feel comfortable. But it can be good for you.”

“Alright,” Clint concluded, still a little perplexed. 

“Tony is seeing a psychiatrist now. Steve, I don’t know yet, but he’ll probably have to. Hell even Peggy is. People like us, we need it too.”

“Carter?”

Bucky chuckles. “Who do you think sent Tony to therapy?”

Clint silently agrees with a lift of his eyebrow and a nod.

“I think they just want to make sure I’m not still murderous and under Loki’s influence.”

Bucky shrugs. “Probably. Doesn’t prevent you from requesting more sessions if you think it’s helpful.” 

Clint’s eyes lift a little as Bucky walks closer again, bracketing his feet with his own. Clint looks at him through his eyelashes and is such a beautiful sight that Bucky has a hard time repressing his need to pull him close and feel his body against his. He lets out a long breath that he doesn’t try to hide away.

Clint’s smirk is back. A little more affectionate than wicked than usual, Bucky can’t help notice. Better not to read too much into it.

“Alright, I trust you,” Clint concludes and lets his legs open enough for it to be an invitation.

Bucky takes his time to move into Clint’s space, relishing in the heat that his body radiates.

“Clint,” Bucky murmurs and feels a shudder under his hands as he sets them on Clint’s knees, “I don’t know if this is goodbye or not. But can we make it a memorable one anyway?”

He pushes Clint’s knees farther apart and they obey with ease. Clint’s lips open as well and once again, Bucky marvels at the way he is pliant under his hands. 

Snaking his hands under Clint’s thighs, Bucky lifts him effortlessly from the couch’s back. Clint’s legs wrap around his back and leans forward for a kiss. Bucky starts walking to the bedroom but moves his head away from Clint’s lips.

“What,” Clint frowns and pulls back to search Bucky’s eyes. “Don’t be an asshole Buck,” he groans, sounding already breathless.

“I’m not, I promise,” Bucky smiles as he kicks the bedroom door open. “Let me take care of you,” he exhorts Clint deep and low as he sets him on the bed without breaking eye contact.

Clint groans and makes another attempt at capturing his mouth but Bucky avoids it with ease. 

“Mhm hum,” he denies him again, eliciting a wounded whine from Clint. 

Bucky pushes Clint on the bed with a hand on his chest. “Play nice, Clint. I promise this will be good.”

Clint’s eyes are impossibly dark and restless. His whole body radiates with want under Bucky. 

“I trust you,” he breaths.

* * *

The almost dead weight of a naked Clint on top of Bucky should be bothering. Bucky doesn’t understand how it isn’t. Instead he wants to bask in the heat and stickiness of Clint’s sex-warmed skin. 

God, is this becoming a real problem? Is he going to be okay with Clint leaving? He has no right not to be. He has no claim on Clint although right this second all he wants is trap Clint between his arms and never let go. 

The restrain he displays in not doing so immediately is a miracle. Instead he just trails his flesh fingers along Clint’s spine, feeling every bump with Clint stretched out and relaxed the way he is.

“I think someone put me in a sex coma.” Clint’s voice is muffled by Bucky’s shoulder where Clint has rested his face, nested in the crock of Bucky’s neck.

Chuckling isn’t easy with nearly 180 lbs of muscles and sass on top of him.

“Good, I can finally enjoy the silence for once,” Bucky quips back.

Clint lifts up, both elbows digging into Bucky’s chest, eliciting a “woof” from the soldier.

“That was a compliment you jerk,” Clint growls and kisses Bucky before he can add anything.

The pleasantness of it lasts all of three seconds before Clint bites into Bucky’s lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. 

“Ow,” Bucky yelps in return and tries to push Clint away from him but the archer lets his weight drop on him, loosening his arms to the side and burying his head at the juncture of Bucky’s flesh and metal limb.

“Noooo,” he whines into Bucky’s skin. “Staaay, Buck I’ll be good.”

Bucky relaxes his muscles and stops fighting. He has zero intention to make Clint leave anyway. Except he has to. Tomorrow. But tomorrow is tomorrow’s problem.

Right now Clint is nuzzling on his skin and the scar tissue that covers his shoulder and pectoral and Bucky can’t seem to care. He has grown accustomed to the arm, he didn’t lie to Steve last night. It is a part of him. But. But no one has really touched it beside doctors and nurses and sometimes Tony. He doesn’t want to think of the rest, the HYDRA goons and crazy scientists. 

The way Clint touches it is completely new, unique. Bucky was never bothered by it, never flinched. It doesn't burn. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't bring any of the memories of torture and pain it carries.

Clint starts leaving soft kisses, simply pressing his warm lips on Bucky’s damaged skin. A sort of lightness grows at the center of Bucky’s chest, making it a little hard to breath. Clint continues, either oblivious of Bucky’s internal turmoil or at the contrary wanting to provoke it. It’s so soft, the way Clint treasures this part of Bucky’s body, so gentle. 

“Clint,” Bucky breathes.

The archer lifts his head, eyes hooded, and studies Bucky’s face for a second before asking.

“Is this okay?”

Bucky almost can’t reply. Because of course it is okay. Of course Clint is allowed to do anything he wants to every part of Bucky’s body and soul. And it’s a terrifying realization, especially now. 

He can only nod.

Clint’s smile is so effortless, it makes Bucky even weaker. 

“No one—” Bucky starts, looking at the ceiling so he doesn’t break into tears, but stops.

Clint keeps peppering his ghastly scars with his soft lips.

“You never told me about yours,” he says between kisses, the fingers of his right hands joining his lips with light strokes.

“You never asked,” Bucky breathly answers. His eyes are closed and he has finally relaxed into Clint’s caresses. 

“I wasn’t sure I was allowed to.”

Bucky frowns. “I asked about your scars,” he states.

Clint rests his chin on his hand and watches Bucky with a half smirk.

“This a game of show me yours I’ll show you mine?”

Bucky chuckles. It’s not as lighthearted as usual.

“You can ask me anything,” Bucky repeats the exact same words he said to Steve, because in a completely different way he now knows Clint and Steve hold a similar place close to his heart.

Clint drops his eyes down for a short moment before watching him again.

“How come they're the only scars on your entire body?”

“Are they?” Bucky asks back genuinely. 

Clint gives him a smile almost going up to his ears.

“I’ve checked every corner of your beautiful body, Buck. trust me, they are.”

Bucky can feel himself blush a little and his cock perk up at Clint’s tone. 

“I, huh—” he babbles, eliciting a chuckle from Clint which resonates in his chest. “Yeah, well I’m not sure. They probably pre-date the serum.”

“Thought you got administered the serum in Azzano? Before you fell?”

“One version yes,” Bucky says, not bothering to try and remember the details of Azzano, they were too blurry and tainted by dark clouds and hot red flashes of pain.

Clint lifted a little up and put his hand on Bucky’s heart, away from the scars this time. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he tells him gently.

“It’s alright sweetheart, I wanna tell you.”

The pet name comes out of his mouth without Bucky’s brain agreeing to it. For half a second Bucky braces himself for rejection or outrage but Clint remains there, half spread on top of Bucky’s naked form. He looks at him intently, waiting for the rest of the story.

“The first time, in Azzano, was a test. I was the only one surviving. I guess it did work or they wouldn’t have been able to pull me out of that canyon alive. After that they kept experimenting. Making it better. Making me stronger. They tried several iterations of the arm too.”

“Several?” A glimmer of rage was growing in Clint’s eyes. 

“I don’t know how many. Some tries my brain couldn’t handle the neuro-paths, they burnt my skin. My body rejected them. Others I ripped off myself when I was starting to get stronger.” Bucky quiets down a moment and looks down at his scars. “I guess that’s why they never really faded. I inflected most of these to myself at a time where I didn’t have my full supersoldier abilities yet,” he concludes as neutral as possible. He doesn’t want to show Clint too much pain.

The man sharing his bed has a dreadful expression all over his features. He puts the warm palm of his hand on top of Bucky’s scars and looks at them with sorrow. 

“Clint,” Bucky murmurs to make him look at him. 

“You never deserved any of this Bucky,” Clint says in return. It’s hard to hear, it’s hard to accept, Bucky has told himself these exact words over and over, so many times.

“But it made you who you are now.” Clint trails his hand on Bucky’s arm.

“Yeah,” Bucky confesses, with ease. “Sometimes, looking at it in the mirror is still strange. Still foreign. But it’s a part of me.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Clint comments, still caressing the metal.

“I kinda noticed you had a tiny metal arm kink, yeah,” Bucky teases, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Clint rolls his eyes. “That—”, he pauses, “Yeah, yeah alright, kinda. But also,” he takes Bucky’s metal hand in his own and plants a kiss at the center of Bucky’s palm. “It is part of you. Everything’s that’s part of you I have a kink for.”

Bucky huffs a laugh before realizing how seriously Clint said this. He watches Clint kiss his metal hand and each of his fingers, the pads of them, his knuckles, the back of his hand, never breaking eye contact. It sends small electric shivers to his brain waves. It’s faint but it’s there. HYDRA had built very basic sensors in the arm, just enough to feel something in battle, but Tony helped in enhancing the sensation. Every time he touches Clint with his robotic limp, he is grateful to Tony for being able to feel so much. 

“How much do you feel with it?” Clint asks as if he is reading Bucky’s mind.

“Enough. The fingertips and the palm are the most sensitive.”

Clint turns Bucky’s hand and presses his lips at the center of his palm, harder than he had before and Bucky feels it all the way inside his bones. He lets out a soft groan which makes Clint’s eyes glisten with mischief. He suddenly feels the tip of Clint’s tongue darting between his lips. Bucky breathes out, hard.

“Tell me what you feel,” Clint tells him, his breath hot against the metal.

“I– I don’t really feel the wetness. I can make the different textures between your lip and your tongue. But the sensors catch the temperature best.”

Clint hums and keeps exploring Bucky’s hand. He grinds against Bucky’s thigh. Their naked skins brush deliciously against each other. Bucky is half hard already and it looks like Clint is as well. 

Clint’s tongue travels from the center of Bucky’s hand all the way to the tip of his middle finger. The pressure is strong and so hot, Bucky is ready to lose it. He wants to bury his fingers inside Clint to open him for his cock. He wants to feel the stretch of his muscles around the hard metal, he wants to feel the warmth of Clint’s body.

He can’t stop himself and moves his hand against Clint’s mouth, breaching the pink plump lips to enter Clint’s heat with two fingers.

“Heat. I feel your heat,” Bucky reveals as Clint starts sucking at his fingers, eagerly. Clint’s eyes lock on him when he says those words. Clint groans and closes his eyes, sucking at Bucky’s fingers and rubbing himself against Bucky.

“You’re so hot,” Bucky can’t stop himself from saying. The stark contrast between Clint’s pale and soft lips and the sleek aggressive gray of the metal is sexier than anything Bucky’s ever seen. 

“Mhhm,” Clint agrees, the vibration sending spikes of arousal directly to Bucky’s cock. He lets Bucky’s fingers out of his mouth with a wet loud ‘pop’. “Looks like I’m not the only one with a metal kink,” he teases, licking his glistening lips.

Bucky catches the back of Clint’s neck to capture lips that were practically begging to be sucked on. 

Clint groans deliciously inside Bucky’s mouth. Bucky takes that as his cue to roll them over and press down, entranced in the feel of Clint’s erection against his own.

Clint grabs Bucky’s metal hand again and licks a messy stripe at the center. Bucky leverages himself to allow Clint to guide his hand and wrap it around both their cocks. His fingers aren’t long enough to envelop their joined girth so Clint encircles his hand above Bucky’s, adding pressure as well so they can fuck into both their hands, and _Jesus_ this feels good. They rock and move in tandem, slow and relaxed. It’s so damn good that Bucky is fighting back tears.

Bucky’s orgasm hits faster than he anticipated. It feels more like a honey slide than a punch to the gut, definitely sweeter than the other times he fucked Clint. He keeps his cock between their hands and uses the come pooling in his metal hand to slide easily over Clint’s cock. He jacks Clint off firm and deep, kissing his jaw, his lips, as Clint arches off the bed and whimpers when he adds his own come to the mess between them. 

Bucky takes a moment to let Clint recover. He could go again, right about now. It takes a lot of restraint not to keep rutting against Clint softening dick. 

“Fuck me,” Clint moans weakly. He looks up at Bucky’s frown. “Go on, I know you want to.” 

“Gotta let you recover, doll,” Bucky says softly as he kisses Clint’s forehead, pushing away the sweaty strands of his hair with his flesh hand.

Clint moves under him, turns around, making Bucky lifts up on his hands. He gets a full view of Clint’s naked and flushed body under him, spreading himself out like an offering, his round ass and powerful thighs an invitation that Clint can’t refuse. He eases down enough for his hardening cock to rub at the crack of Clint’s ass. He’s over-sensitive and it would almost hurt if it wasn’t so damn good. He drops kisses on Clint’s shoulders and neck, still holding his weight off the upper part of his body, it allows him more movement to slide his cock between Clint’s cheeks, the friction so delicious he’s almost delirious with it.

“Go on, fuck me Buck. I want you to come again,” Clint whispers under him, a little breathless himself although Bucky knows he won’t be ready for another orgasm for a while after what they did all evening.

Bucky practically growls in Clint’s ear and shifts his weight on his right arm to use his metal fingers to explore Clint’s hole. He’s still loose and relaxed after being fuck less than an hour ago.

“I’m ready Buck,” Clint breathes, whimpering a little at the touch of metal against sensitive skin. “Fuck me for Christ’s sakes.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky whispers in his ear and kisses his neck, while he breaches Clint’s rim with two fingers at the time. He feels the wetness of his own come as they slide in the heat of Clint’s body so easily. 

“Well, only if I ask I hope,” Clint cheekily adds as Bucky starts pumping in and out of his hole.

Bucky groans again, too far gone to humor Clint. He takes out his fingers to hold his cock and guides himself inside Clint. The head pushes easily inside Clint and the archer makes a strangled sound as he grips the sheet close to his face. Bucky doesn’t go as slow as he should, Jesus, it’s so, so good.

“Oh, fuck,” Clint whimpers.

“You okay?” Bucky stops and asks, panting.

“Fuck, fuck, yes. Go on,” 

“You hard again?”

“No, I don’t— _Jesus_ I just fucking love having you in me,” Clint confesses, sounding almost broken.

Bucky rolls his hips tentatively. Clint just whimpers and hums to encourage Bucky to go on. Bucky continues, pulling out and pushing back in again, fucking Clint slow and sweet in a way that obviously isn’t fucking at all. 

Heat is already starting to flood back into Bucky like high tide. It doesn’t take long for his orgasm to rush through him. 

Bucky can’t stop his weight from falling on Clint and the archer reacts with a “woof” and a chuckle. 

Bucky slowly melts to the mattress, curling up around Clint and clinging to his warm body. Clint gathers Bucky in his arms and not for the first time, Bucky allows Clint to cuddle and shelter him from the world.

“You didn’t?” Bucky asks weakly.

“Didn’t have to,” Clint says and kisses Bucky’s temple. “T’was all for you Buck.”

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers so low, he hopes Clint doesn’t hear it.

* * *

The morning light isn’t filtering through the flimsy curtains yet when Bucky wakes up. He rolls around and extends his arm on the empty sheets next to him. It’s cold. Clint has been gone for a while.

Bucky looks up to the ceiling and is about to ask JARVIS where the archer is. He doesn’t and closes his eyes. _It’s over_ , he thinks. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! I really really hope you enjoyed it as much as I liked writing about these two idiots <3 This chapter has some of my favorite exchanges (including one with Peggy and Bucky that I really love), it ends with so much fluff you'll need a dentist appointent. 
> 
> Sorry it's not been entirely beta'd, hopefully my mistakes weren't too distracting.
> 
> I really want to say thank you to all of you who commented, left kuddos and read my take into this winterhawk universe. I appreciate each and everyone of you <3

It takes him a couple of days to be able to get out of his quarters. Clint had gone without a real goodbye. He sent a text once he was out of the Tower. 

_Thought it was easier that way. I’ve never been good at goodbyes, I’m sorry_

_This is just goodbye, I’ll see you for avenging and to fuck up aliens’ ugly faces together_

_I can’t wait_

The three texts came with almost no time between them. It takes a bit of time for Bucky to process them. Clint wants to see him again obviously. Bucky too, of course, of fucking course, he’d already be halfway there if he knew where Clint was right now. Which is dangerous in itself. Because he simply couldn’t. Clint had been clear. There was never really nothing there beside fucking and comforting when they needed it. 

He wished they could have lived in this bubble a little longer with no consequences and nothing to consider but how they make each other feel. Now it’s like that bubble’s been popped and the messy reality is bleeding back in. It hurts. It hurts somehow.

He knows he will see Clint again, obviously. Still, Bucky has to wallow a little before being able to confront the world outside of that bubble. 

Steve pulls him out of his ass, as usual. 

Steve comes to collect him to join the rescue units spread out across Manhattan. They work there most days now, if not all week. The two of them, together, help firefighters and workers to lift up heavy buildings pieces that can’t be moved with cranes because of the precariousness of the layout. They use their strength to assist the real heroes. It’s good to feel useful again. To have a purpose and help reconstruct something they unfortunately help destroy.

A few weeks go by and Bucky almost forgets about the emptiness at the center of his chest. At least he manages to ignore it to go on. Unfortunately it’s still there.

The first text he receives from Clint after weeks of radio silence is completely random.

_You know how to cook gyoza?_

Bucky stares at his phone for a couple of minutes before he can answer. His heart is doing a toe loop in his chest for a reason he really wants to ignore.

 _Never made gyoza but looks doable._ Bucky’s reply is simple. He has no idea how to answer otherwise.

_Dope. Go ahead and master it so you can make me some when I’m back. It’s my new favorite food._

Bucky can’t stop the dopey smile appearing on his face even if he tried to. Steve arches a brow at him.

“What are you smiling at like a teenager in love?” His friend teases him as he eases up a worker to the platform they were both on with a grunt punctuating his phrase.

Bucky pockets his phone hastily and jogs to help Steve.

“Nothing,” he grumbles. “Just recipes,” he finally concedes when Steve watches him with a lifted eyebrow that means _I know you better than your own mother Bucky Barnes, you liar_.

Bucky doesn’t read the following texts until later that evening when he’s coming back to the Tower.

_After pizza, obviously. Pizza is superior to everything._

_OMG you HAVE to make me homemade pizza._

_Can’t believe you’ve never made me pizza. This is a gross undersight Barnes._

_Man I miss your food._

Bucky’s heart doesn’t do a toe-loop, it makes a full on triple-axel. 

* * *

They text pretty much every day after. Clint is on a stake out mission. He has passed SHIELD’s psychologist tests and he is planning on seeing the shrink again when he’s back from that mission.

Bucky can’t help but feel proud of that. Clint is taking his mental health seriously and Bucky is so glad for it.

Bucky has no idea where Clint is. He assumed it was Japan at first but the times he texts aren’t concording with the time zone there. Unless his sleeping habits have worsen which he ends up asking Clint about who promised that he was sleeping nice and well, especially because the mission was an absolute snooze fest and he was bored to death.

Honestly? Bucky is very, very relieved to hear that. It means Clint is safe and he doesn’t have to deal with the constant feeling of worry in the pit of his stomach he had for the first few weeks, not knowing where and what Clint was doing.

Of course Clint’s texts are pretty much always flirty and filthy. It was funny at first. Bucky indulged Clint with the dirty texts, sometimes scowling at him like he knows Clint is always delighted because he can bring the teasing to an even higher level, sometimes answering with his own salacious comments. 

After a week it stops being funny. Bucky reaches his limit when he gets yet another accidental boner while pounding chicken breasts and Clint sending him the worst pun ever.

_I wish you were pounding my ass instead._

Bucky freezes and gets so red and aroused at the same time it’s beyond embarrassing. He’s cooking for Christ’s sakes. A piece of chicken shouldn’t turn him on _goddammit_. 

Tony and Steve are oblivious about his current state and ask after him when Bucky has to make a run to the elevator in order to take a cold shower. In his quarters. With lube. Okay maybe the shower is not that cold. 

* * *

Bucky wonders why they keep doing this. Saying it’s over, that they need to stop, only to go back to fucking. Or sexting in that case. Although he’s not sure this is called sexting, really. Not that Bucky has a lot of experience with this but he’s pretty sure that jerking off alone because Clint sent him a couple of cute selfies and terrible sex jokes isn’t considered sexting. It’s just his fucking sex-deprived body betraying him.

He hasn’t confessed it to Clint either. It’s not what they are supposed to be. But again, why, why Clint would keep on indulging him with dirty talk if he didn’t want to as well?

It’s an exhausting week of July with a oven-like atmosphere of a thousand degrees. Last night a summer rain from hell dropped on New York, putting to a halt all reconstruction work for safety. The grounds aren’t stable enough yet.

Steve is with Peggy at the penthouse in Park Avenue. Tony is in Miami with Pepper. Bucky is alone in the living quarters of the Tower.

He has spent most of that alone time cooking and baking and he’s pretty glad for it. He likes to help in the rescue efforts but that day off comes at the right time. He’s exhausted.

The evening rolls out without news from Clint though. Bucky tries to pass the time by changing channels on the tv, slouched on his couch in his boxers and a soft wormed-out tee-shirt, the AC blasting cold air above him. The city's lights are lighting up gradually when his phone buzzes on the coffee table.

He tries to control himself. He really does. But Bucky still launches himself to grab it, knowing very well that it’s Clint texting.

_Read it’s pretty miserable in NYC right now?_

Bucky rapidly types a reply. 

_I’m melting._

The three dots indicating that Clint is already typing appear immediately. Bucky turns off the tv and settles comfortably into the couch, ready to text with Clint for as long as they can.

Clint: _Thought it was raining?_

Bucky: _Yeah, it stopped though but we can’t go back to the rescue site yet. Too much mud, unstable. And it’s too hot and gross to go out._

Clint: _Whacha been doin all day then_

Bucky snorts. Clint’s way of texting is not so bad. He uses correct spelling and grammar most of the time which was a relief for Bucky. But he tents to type as he speaks. It’s ridiculous. And adorable.

Bucky: _Cooking. Baking cookies for the crew._

There’s a pause and the three dots appear, followed by way too many frowning face emojis.

Clint: _Nooooo no Buck whyyyyy_

Bucky: _I’m being nice. If you were here I’d be nice to you too._

Clint: _Oh really? Nice how?_

Yeah it’s starting. This time Bucky started it so he can only blame himself.

Bucky: _Mhm wouldn’t you like to know_

Clint _: Yeah I do actually so don’t be shy and tell me_

Bucky hovers above the keyboard of his phone. His boxer starts to strain as his cock fills up far too quickly for such an innocent –yet– exchange. 

Bucky: _Feed you cookies_

He can’t stop himself from being a little sassy there.

Clint: _Feed me something else maybe?_

Christ. Bucky grits his teeth and it takes all his self-control to not touch himself. He’s so tired of this sexual frustration. He’s lived the last twenty years with barely acknowledging his sexual desires and now that Clint entered his life it’s like he can’t stop being horny all the fucking time. His hands both grip the phone firmly and type back.

Bucky: _Don’t start something you can finish in person Barton._

Clint: _Not in the mood for some casual sexting tonight?_ with a sad emoji in at the end.

Wait, what? Does this mean Bucky wasn’t the only one taking these texts as more than just playful flirting? Clint was doing this on purpose?

Bucky: _What? You’ve been sexting me the whole time?_

Clint: _What did you think I was doing?_

Bucky blanks a little and waits a bit too long to answer apparently and Clint replies before he can think of an answer.

Clint: _hey sorry if I weirded you out._

Clint: _thought you were enjoying this too_

Clint: _i’ll stop if you’re not on board_

Bucky: _I was_

Bucky: _I am!_

Bucky: _I just wasn’t sure you were doing this on purpose_

Bucky quickly answers back before Clint thinks he doesn’t want to continue their, well apparently, sex-buddy thing over the phone.

Clint: _That’s not how I regularly text my friends Barnes jesus_

Clint: _I don’t ask them how there’re dressed when they’re laying in bed_

Bucky feels like an idiot. He really does. Probably for the first time in many years he feels very stupid right now.

Clint: _Jesus I can’t believe you didn’t realize_

A line of five laughing emojis follows and now Bucky’s pride is hurt a little. He squints at the screen.

Bucky: _don’t you laugh at me you asshole_

Bucky: _how was I supposed to know, you flirt with everyone in the room including the potted plant_

Clint: _that more explicit?_

The next message is a photo. Of Clint’s hand fisting around his hard dick. Bucky’s own cock reacts in a millisecond, straining against the fabric of his boxer. 

“Fucking Christ,” Bucky mutters and his flesh hand keens at the bulge in his boxers. He keeps looking at Clint’s gorgeous dick. It’s a very zoomed in photo, revealing nothing of Clint’s surroundings to keep his location safe, Bucky assumes. Always a spy huh? 

Bucky rubs harder as he imagines that it’s his hand around Clint’s cock, slowly stroking him, drawing out those small whimpers he loves so much. God, he wants to see and hear Clint so much right now.

Notifications of new texts start appearing at the top of the screen.

Clint: _You touching yourself lookin at me right?_

Clint: _yeah you are_

Clint: _I am too_

 _Fuck_. Bucky tries to close the photo to answer but he has to switch hands, the metal one doesn’t work on the touch screen. He grumbles as he takes a mental note to ask Stark to work on that. 

Bucky: _I want to see you_

Bucky _: I want to hear you_

There’s no answer for a moment and Bucky is about to open back the photo to jerk off because his cock is pretty much about to explode by itself if he doesn’t do something, quick.

Clint: _give me sec and i’ll video call you_

Yes, yes. Man, the future is awesome. Bucky sinks further into the couch, still rubbing at his length through the boxers. Quickly enough Clint’s photo appears on the screen requesting a video call. The photo Bucky saved for Clint is the archer stuffing his face with an entire piece of banana bread. It’s definitely not flattering, but incredibly adorable.

When Bucky connects the call, Clint appears in the dark, only his face lightens up by the phone screen.

“Can’t turn on the lights, sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“Is it safe to do this?” Bucky suddenly realizes. Clint in on mission after all.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s safe, it’s late here and I can’t risk putting the lights on but I swear nothing’s going to happen,” Clint groans in annoyance. “I’m pretty sure they sent me to Boring Town on my first mission just to test me.”

“How you been doing?” Seeing and talking to Clint for the first time in months confirms that he missed more than just the physical aspect of their relationship.

“I didn’t call you for chitchat Bucky Bear,” Clint smirks at the phone and tousles his hair. They spike in all directions, he’s even prettier that way. 

“You’ve really been sexting these past weeks?”

“Yeah.” Bucky can’t see all the details of Clint’s face all too well –he hates it– but he could swear that the archer is blushing.

“You’ve been touching yourself while texting me?” Bucky’s voice drops an octave.

Clint breathes hard and his hand disappears from the screen. Bucky can only imagine where it goes though, not being able to see more than Clint’s face and collarbones. 

“Yeah,” Clint breathes and almost gasps as he’s probably reaching for his cock.

“A little rude not to tell a guy,” Bucky continues with a dark and commanding voice.

“I wanna see you,” Clint whispers. Bucky can’t be sure if it’s because he’s turned on or because of his location.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yeah, Buck, yes,” Clint practically begs.

Bucky licks his lips and waits for a moment.

“Show me what you’ve been doing first and I’ll decide if you can see me or not,” he growls.

Clint whimpers and moves around, the image becoming shaky and almost pitch back.

“Let me just,” Clint starts but doesn’t finish. “Here.”

The image stabilizes and Clint has turned on a small lamp by the nightstand. It’s faint but combined with the light of the phone’s screen Bucky can discern the shape of Clint’s strong tights, the dip of his waist and the lean curve of his torso. He’s lying on his side, the phone probably propelled on the nightstand. The top of his head is cut out but Bucky sees enough to be amazed by how beautiful Clint. How much he missed seeing his face every damn day. 

Clint’s left arm is under his head, he stretches a little and his other hand is lazily resting on his abs, stroking a little. His cock is erect against his thigh, hard and smooth like Bucky knows too well. He licks his lips and bits the bottom one, aching to put it on Clint’s gorgeous cock.

“Can I see you now?” Clint asks with a husky voice, his fingers brushing at the light brown hair of his pelvis.

“Not yet,” Bucky answers, his jaw clenches and he licks his lips again. “Touch yourself,” he orders.

Clint rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. He moans softly as his fingers wrap around his length and start stroking slowly. “Like what you see?” He smirks.

Bucky’s hand is back on his own cock, brushing through the fabric. He wants to make it last, he doesn’t want to give into it too soon. He will not last long if he does, especially with Clint in such a debauched display. 

Clint arches a little, fisting his cock harder. “Come on Buck, let me see that pretty dick of yours,” he purrs.

Bucky sighs as he lifts himself from the couch. He clearly can’t resist much longer. 

He finds a box of tissue on the coffee table and props the phone against it, dragging the table closer to the couch. Yes, the tissues are here for that one specific reason he can’t deny it.

When he’s about to sit back he’s a little annoyed that the phone has such a small screen, Clint seems too far away now. He’s going to have to grab a Starkpad from Tony’s labs if they want to do this again.

“You’re wearing too much clothes,” Clint whines, the sound too far out.

“Wait up,’ Bucky says as he grabs the phone again and turns the volume to the maximum. He takes a moment to remove his tee-shirt and drops it on the floor. He skims down from his boxers as well.

Clint can only see his thighs when Bucky is still standing up.

“Man, I wish you had those thighs wrapped up around my ears while I suck you off,” Clint groans.

Bucky fists his cock, putting pressure at the base. Jesus, it’s going to be a fast one.

When he sits down, he slouches back against the pillows and opens his legs. The view he is offering to Clint is downright obscene and the archer answers to it with a loud moan, almost closing his eyes as he works faster on my cock. Bucky doesn’t care if he feels too self-conscious like this, open and exposed to Clint’s eyes. He’s not used to it. It’s still strange how much he feels at ease with his body when it comes to Clint. Like none of it matter, not the artificial muscle mass the serum built on, not the scars, not the arm. None of it matters when Clint is looking at him with hooded eyes and dark pupils. Not when Clint’s hand is doing a quick work of pushing him to the edge just because Bucky is laying naked and vulnerable in front of him. Just for him.

“Fuck, Clint,” Bucky whispers in return as he starts stroking himself hard and fast. “Talk, talk sweetheart. I wanna hear your voice,” he whimpers, already close.

“Buck, just– hum that feels good, doesn’t it?” Clint purrs on the tiny screen, aching his back again and opening up his leg wider. “Nothing like your hand, nothing like the metal on my skin. _Fuck_ ,” he hisses and slows his motions. “Ain’t gonna last with you all spread out for me like that. So beautiful.”

Bucky groans and squeezes his cock harder. “Come on, doll, this is all for you,” he urges Clint. “I want to see you come for me, I want to imagine tasting it on my tongue. Fucking you,” he rambles. He’s pretty sure by now his brain has cour-circuited and he can’t stop his mouth from saying nonsense, telling Clint how pretty he is, how good he feels, how much he wants him here with him. Clint whimpers and rocks his hips into his hand until he brings his other fist to his mouth and muffles a scream.

Bucky watches him spill all over his thigh and sheets, his face a mix of strain and ecstasy. He speeds up his rhythm and clenches his ass to lift his hips and fuck harder in his fist until the tile of electricity hits him and he shoots his load on his stomach.

They are both breathing hard, not able to talk. Bucky sinks back into the pillow and lets his head drop onto the back of the couch, enjoying the last moments of post-orgasm bliss.

“That was far superior to sexting,” Clint says in an exhausted voice.

Bucky chuckles and opens back his eyes. Clint is contentedly lying on his side, a satiated smile on his face. 

Bucky gets up quickly to retrieve a couple of tissues from the box and cleans himself up.

“We should do that again sometime,” Clint says casually.

The smile on Bucky’s face is not wry nor mocking this time. It’s full of affection as he takes the phone back in his hand to get a closer look at Clint.

“Ain’t we supposed to stop this?” He asks, knowing he shouldn’t have.

Clint drops his eyes down and up again.

“If you want to,” he tells him with a blank face. 

“I don’t want to.”

Clint gives him a small smile.

“Let’s not talk about this now. You said you were cool with just fooling around.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky agrees, a little against his will. “I am. Don’t worry. I just–” He sighs. “This feels good. With you. I haven’t felt good like that in a long time.”

Clint pinches his lips together, adverts his eyes for a second and the teasing smirk is back on his face, like this wasn’t the most meaningful conversation they have had since the one on the healypad, weeks ago.

“I’m skilled like that, yeah,” Clint jokes.

Bucky can’t help the pinch in his heart. He just opened up honestly to Clint about their relationship for the first time and all he gets is a joke. It hurts a little, although he tries to put it away. No need to dwell on it. Let’s enjoy what Clint gives him for now. It’ll last for as long it’ll last. He will lick his wounds later, when Clint will be done fooling around with him.

Clint is silent for a moment, his face returning to a blank state and watching Bucky intently.

“How’s the mission going?” Bucky asks just to fill the silence that is making him feel angsty.

“Fine. Like I said, it’s a snooze fest. It’s just an intel gathering mission, watch and report.”

“When will you be done?”

A small smile breaks Clint’s placid look. 

“Not sure,” he answers and sighs. “Soon I hope.”

“At least we can communicate,” Bucky tries.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s probably the highlight of this freaking mission.” Clint’s smile is bright and honest. 

Let’s add confusion to the pile of feelings Bucky is collecting right now.

* * *

The texting and video chatting goes on easily after that. Now that Bucky has a clear picture of what Clint wants with his communication with him, he can tell him to fuck off alone when he’s in public and can’t bolt to the nearest bathroom to take care of a hard on.

He goes to Peggy’s penthouse one evening with Steve after the construction site. He uses the old bathroom that was en suite to the bedroom he was occupying several years ago, then he goes to sit with Peggy in the kitchen.

She’s wearing comfortable clothes, a simple black legging with a casual red tunic. Her hair is pulled up in a bun and she looks perfectly at ease behind the stove, reheating the food for their dinner. 

“Steve’s still upstairs?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “You have no idea how long he takes in the shower. It’s insufferable.”

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, it’s like he’s never had constant hot water and top notch water pressure in his life before. Geez,” Bucky ironizes.

“Ahah,” she answers, rolling her eyes. “That’s not what I meant, you ass.”

“I know,” Bucky says, fondly. “I know Peg. What are you cooking?”

“I don’t cook, you know that.” She peeks inside the casserole. “I bought this from Dean & DeLuca on my way from headquarters.”

“How are things in headquarters?”

“Hectic ever since the battle. We’re tracking group cells who want to put their hands on alien tech.The government is up my ass for accountability although they bloody well know the Avengers is an independent group.”

“They don’t believe you? They think we answer to SHIELD?”

“Well, with Tony and Steve in the team, it’s hard for them to believe the opposite. One is my son, the other my–” she pauses. “My boyfriend I guess. God I feel like a teenager saying that. My _boyfriend_. Who have I become?” She asks Bucky, sounding beyond herself.

Bucky laughs wholeheartedly. Yes, yes it does sound strange for Peggy Freaking Carter to have a boyfriend. He has always known her to be this innate powerful woman in charge. She was so alone though. She has been so alone for years. He has never known her with Stark; of course he hasn’t. But he can’t imagine her being as happy with Howard as she is now with Steve. There’s no competition there. Steve and she embody what _meant to be_ is. 

Bucky looks at her longingly. He envies them really. Now that he has something in his life too, he envies them. He never thought he’d ever would. He never thought he would ever feel that way for what remained of him to live. It’s like HYDRA had taken his ability to want and desire when they took his arm and his sanity. But now? Now everything seems to change, everything shifts under his feet and it’s like falling into an abyss of unknown. 

“How have you been doing in the Tower, alone?” Peggy asks casually.

“Huh good. Great actually,” Bucky blurts out, still a little caught up in his head. “Especially when Tony’s not there.”

Peggy snorts.

“Don’t laugh. it’s quieter and at least I don’t have to check on the lab every hour to make sure he eats, sleeps or doesn’t blow up the entire floor,” Bucky tells her wryly. 

“He’s doing so much better,” Peggy says in a quiet tone.

“Yes, he is better.”

“I thought the battle would have done permanent damage to his mental state, but you, pushing him to Pepper, was the best thing that could have happened,” she tells Bucky with a melancholy in her voice.

“I didn’t push him towards Pepper,” Bucky answers, quizzically. 

“Didn’t you? He told me you pretty much launched his ass on a plane to Malibu right after the battle?”

“I–” Bucky connects the dots. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I already had Barton to take care of. I just couldn’t babysit two Avengers. It’s too much work. Way too much.”

“Don’t I know it,” she snorts. “Well on purpose or not. He did propose to Pepper after you shipped him to see her. He has finally let her in and it helped more than I ever could.”

“That’s all him Peg. And you. If he hadn’t had you, he wouldn’t be the man he is now.”

Peggy drops her head and a soft smile appears on her face. It’s not often that Peggy Carter lets you see her vulnerable. She never hid that side of herself with Bucky though.

“How is Barton by the way?” She asks after a few minutes of stirring the casserole. 

“Bored. But Okay. He’s doing better than after the battle too. It was a close call for him to lose it to anxiety and depression. But I think he’s getting there little by little. He deserves to get better, he’s too much of a good person to be broken by Loki’s mind games,” Bucky reveals. 

He knows he just said too much, that it sounded very personal. But he spent a lot of time with Clint, it’s not a secret. Natasha put him in charge of looking after him and Clint works for Peggy after all. She’s allowed to hear a trusted friend's opinion on the well being of one of her best agents. Right? Right.

Peggy cocks her head to the side, watching him and squinting her eyes a little. Oh God, that's the ‘ _Peggy Carter just learnt one of your deepest darkest secrets’_ face. Shit.

“Since when has this been going on?” Peggy cuts directly to the chase.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Bucky says and fails to sound genuine. He knows it.

“You’ve always been a terrible liar with me, Bucky. I will certainly never know why because you are such an amazing deceiver in combat. But you can’t lie to me for shite.”

Peggy crosses her arms and plants herself facing him. Bucky narrows his eyes at her.

“That’s because you’re terrifying Carter.”

She rolls her eyes again.

“That’s an exaggeration,” Peggy huffs. “Now what is happening between you and Clint?”

She’s far too serious for Bucky’s liking. He blanks for a second before slouching his shoulders and resting his elbows on the kitchen island.

“Nothing, seriously.” He lifts up his face to watch her. “Seriously, it’s not what you think.”

“And what am I thinking?”

“Peg,” he begs a little. “I just– we are just– ugh. It’s simply comfort alright? Nothing more. We’re friends. I think.” Bucky pauses for a second, it feels strange to think about Clint as his friend, but it’s as honest as he can describe their relationship. “We’re friends,” he concludes, not exactly convinced by himself.

“And?” Peggy inquires.

“And we occasionally fuck?” He hesitates to say.

“Oh Bucky,” Peggy drops her arms to her side and watches him with some sort of worry. There’s no annoyance in her look, which is a relief for Bucky. He couldn’t bear being on the other side of a real disappointed look from Peggy. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a bad idea, we’re teammates and all that. But it’s fine. We have an understanding. It’s just comfort okay?” He tells her again, only to convince himself. “We’ll stop.”

“You have an understanding? Isn’t that romantic.” She gives Bucky a lopsided smile, which helps him relax a little.

Bucky snorts. “Trust me there’s no romance there.”

“Why not?” 

Bucky opens his mouth and closes it. A few weeks ago, he would have said loud and clear that there simply couldn’t be together. That this was not a love story. That Bucky wasn’t relationship material, he didn’t deserve Clint. They were wounded, weak and in need for reassurance. That’s all it was.

“It’s not what he wants,” he lets out. It’s a confession he has never said out loud.

“And what about you?” Peggy’s voice has dropped to a soothing tone. If Bucky was brave enough he would have looked at her right now. But he is not brave. Not when it comes to Clint, apparently. 

He leans forward a little on his elbows taking his head in his hands and lets out a long breath.

Peggy walks around the island to stand by his side.

“Oh darling,” she reassures him with a hand on his neck. “Does he know?”

“No, no he doesn’t. I’m not sure I’ve known myself until now.” Bucky folds on himself under Peggy’s reassuring hand.

“I’m sure you have,” she sounds so confident yet compassionate. 

“It’s alright, I can live with that. I’ve lived with worse, let’s be honest.” Bucky lifts his head. “I can stand to wait for Clint Barton to get bored of my ugly mug and dump me for something better to do.”

“Bucky, I can’t let you say th—” Peggy starts almost vehemently.

“Stop, stop,” Bucky cuts her. “He’s been clear about it since day one. I can’t fault him for that. As soon as I realized I was getting too far in my head, I should have stopped it. I didn’t. I want what we have. Even if it’s just temporary.”

“If you’re sure,” she really doesn’t sound convinced.

“I’m sure,” Bucky concludes, this time with a little more conviction.

“Who else knows?”

Peggy removes her hand from his neck after a friendly squeeze and leans her hip on the island.

“No one,” he tells her.

She hums and pushes herself from the island to go back to reheating their dinner.

“Natasha probably knows.”

“I don’t think he told her,” Bucky guesses.

“Oh if he didn’t, I’m sure she’s figured it by now. You know her.”

“Shit,” Bucky murmures after taking a second to think about it. God he hopes Peggy’s wrong. He doesn’t need Natasha up into his personal business on top of everything. She is very, _very_ persistent when she knows a secret and wants to interfere. 

“Are you planning on telling Steve?” 

Bucky thinks hard on that. He’s been dying to tell Steve to be honest, just as much as he’s been dreading it. He can’t deal with Steve disapproving and his friend has plenty of reason to after all. He leads this team and surely he won’t think that two of his soldiers fucking around is a good idea for team balance. Just like Bucky’s pretty sure that Steve will want to convince Clint and him not to pursue this relationship. Or the complete opposite actually. He might want Bucky to be happy or some shit and end up meddling. Which will most definitely drive Clint away.

Either way, Bucky isn’t ready to deal with any of it. He’ll tell him when the time is right. Or once it’ll be over. At least he won’t have to deal with Steve interfering. 

“Not yet,” Bucky answers Peggy.

“You should,” she starts but he cut her again.

“Thank you Peg. For not judging me. Not judging us. I just can’t tell Steve right now. Not until I figure things out.”

Peggy watches him quietly for a moment and smiles. “You’re welcome Bucky. And do I need to add that you are welcome to speak to me about anything?”

Bucky returns the smile in kind. “No, no you don’t Peg.”

* * *

Summer is finally over, judging by the darkening skies above the Tower. Steve is leading the way as they enter the commonfloor for refreshments after a 12 hour-day of work. 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” says a melodic voice from the couch area. Bucky immediately recognizes Natasha’s purring voice.

“Romanoff,” Steve welcomes her and strides her way. She stands up from the plush armchair to give him a quick hug. Steve nods and turns to look at the couch, next to him.

If Natasha is back, does this mean… Bucky doesn’t have the time to finish his thoughts from spiraling towards hope and fear, both very conflicted feelings but nonetheless the ones that are swarming his head, when he spots a pair of combat boots peeking from the back of the couch.

He stops dead in his track, just a few feet away, far enough not to be able to see the person laying there. He doesn’t need to. He knows who it is and his heart is already hammering in his chest.

“Barton,” Steve says with a nod.

“Cap,” the too familiar voice answers back but Clint remains on the couch, away from Bucky’s eye line.

“Hi Barnes.” Bucky hears unable to tear away his eyes from the blank back of the furniture. “What’s happening? Your old bones are too tired to walk all the way here?”

Bucky snaps out of his daze and looks back at the woman. He metaphorically shakes his head to help his mind clear and takes the few steps that separates them.

Natasha gives his good shoulder a quick shake.

“Natalia,” he tells her. “Good to have you back.”

He finally glances at the men laying on the couch. Clint’s long body is stretched fully, taking up all the space, his arms behind his head and ankles crossed. He’s wearing black clothes, the familiar SHIELD issued casual outfit. It fits him like a glove and yet it’s not who he is at all.

Bucky is reminded of the first time he saw Clint sprawled out on the same couch, so many months ago just after the battle. It’s drastically different from then though. Clint is looking directly at Bucky and his eyes are bright and hiding a smile his face doesn’t want to give away. He looks so much better than that day. Fresh clothes, rested features and a hint of a tan are coloring his cheeks, highlighting his freckles. God he looks good.

God, Bucky missed him.

“What’s with the dust and grim?” Clint asks, giving Bucky, and only Bucky, a once over.

Both him and Steve are covered in dirt and disgusting sweaty streaks of dust on any visible skin part. It shouldn’t be appealing at all but somehow the way Clint devourers Bucky’s body tells him this might be a new kink. Or Clint is just as thirsty to put his hands on Bucky as Bucky is to put them on Clint.

“We’re coming directly from the construction site on 59th,” Steve answers. “We worked on clearing the last building ruins, they can start on the foundation again next week. It’s been a good day.”

Clint’s eyes flicker to Steve and he gives him a lopsided smile. 

“Awesome,” the archer says.

Bucky wants to keep his composure. He wants to look impassive. But the surprise of seeing Clint has short-circuited his brain apparently and all he can do is stare.

He hears a huff from Natasha and when he finally detaches his eyes from Clint, she’s watching him with an impeccable lifted eyebrow.

“How long are you staying?” Steve asks them, oblivious to the silent exchange taking place here.

“Few weeks, unless there’s an emergency,” Natasha tells him.

Clint groans and shifts his position to sit on the edge of the couch.

“There are always goddamned emergencies,” he protests.

Few weeks. _Few weeks_. It’s the only thing Bucky heard. It’s pathetic really, to feel his heart jump at the idea that he will be able to see Clint for a few weeks after so many time apart. Jesus, _get a grip_ , he thinks before clearing his throat and walking to the kitchen area.

“You staying here?” He asks while opening the fridge, as casually as he can.

“If that’s okay by Tony, we might,” Natasha answers.

“You both have quarters here, Tony insisted that you can stay here while in the city, no problem,” Steve tells them.

Bucky looks inside the fridge without seeing anything. He takes a deep breath to regain his control.

“Fantastic,” Natasha flatly answers and starts heading to the kitchen area next to Bucky. “I’ve heard you’re quite a cook. I never knew that.”

Bucky closes the fridge and finally his control is back. “That your way to ask me to make you dinner?” He tells her wryly.

Natasha shrugs.

“Then there are several take out menus right here,” he points to the many menus on the fridge and gives her a shit-eating grin. “Help yourself.”

“You’re an ass,” she says with her signature half-smirk. “I’ve missed you _druzhishche_.”

Bucky snorts but doesn’t dismiss her. He missed her too. 

“Are you staying for dinner?” She turns around to ask Steve.

“Sorry I can’t. Peggy is coming back from a trip, we haven’t seen each other in a while. I—” Steve looks at the clock on the opposite wall. “I should get going actually.”

He clasps his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “Raincheck?” He asks towards Bucky and Nat's general direction.

“Sure,” Bucky nods.

“Can you bake those pecan cookies you made the other day next time? I could eat a dozen at once. They were damn good,” Steve tells as he walks backward to the exit.

“Yeah you actually did that. S’like you were still starvin’ or something!” Bucky shouts at Steve who’s out of sight and probably already by the elevators. 

“He was starving for a long time before landing in this century, Barnes. Way to ostracize your friend,” Natasha admonishes him although Bucky knows she does this to rattle him more than anything.

“Aw shuddup. I was starvin’ too back then. And I didn’t eat all the cookies I made for the actual workers.” He glares at her while Clint lets out a laugh from the couch. 

She chuckles and turns on her heel. “I’m checking on those quarters Steve told us about. I need a shower and change out of this.”

She gives Clint a nod which he returns with a sloppy salute. 

“Also, you are making dinner Barnes,” Natasha shouts, her voice faint and already far away.

Bucky and Clint’s eyes catch each other and Bucky adverts them to open a cupboard in front of him. It’s the breakfast one, with the seven different kinds of cereals they apparently need and at least twelve varieties of teas only Bruce drinks.

There is movement behind him, Bucky can feel it but he closes the cupboard and opens the fridge again to reach for a beer. After closing the door he heads to the drawer to get the bottle opener. He tries to be casual about it. He really, really tries, but a hand closes the drawer before Bucky has time to get what he wanted.

Clint’s hand rests on the kitchen counter while the other presses onto Bucky’s hip. Bucky allows himself a shaky breath when Clint nuzzles against his ear and pushes his entire body against Bucky’s.

“I could eat a dozen of your pecan cookies too,” he murmurs in a deep husky voice.

Bucky snorts loudly. It’s ridiculous, so damn ridiculous to try to make this remark seductive. But it nearly works, which is even more pathetic. Clint could read the yellow pages with this voice in Bucky’s ears, the soldier would still get a hard-on.

“You haven’t even tried them,” Bucky answers, trying to keep his voice steady while Clint keeps exploring his neck, not really kissing, more like nuzzling and sniffing him. And this is even worse than if his lips were already on his skin. It’s far, far worse and Bucky’s cock fills up slowly as Clint continues to explore, to tease, now with his hand lifting up to his side and stroking there slowly.

“I don’t need to. I know how good you are.” He drops a kiss on the skin just above the collar of Bucky’s shirt.

Bucky groans but doesn’t want to give Clint the satisfaction for some reason. He wants to make it last a little, wants Clint to have a to beg him maybe. To really show him he wants him. 

“I need a bottle opener,” he says as he nudges Clint’s hand on the counter with the bottom of the beer bottle.

Clint doesn’t move and hums against Bucky’s skin, living feather kisses along his neck.

“Clint,” Bucky says in an authoritarian tone, deeper than he intended.

“Ooh, man,” Clint purrs, “I missed that voice.”

Bucky takes a shaky breath and turns around without bothering to warn Clint. He looks at him dead in the eye. Clint’s eyelids are already heavy and he has that stupidly adorable smirk on his face and Bucky wants to eat him whole.

He keeps his eyes locked and uses his metal fingers to open up the beer cap. It snaps easily with a metallic sound and drops on the floor with a cling. 

Clint’s eyes flicker down and widen a little.

“Hot,” he whispers.

Bucky rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of his beer. Clint is still hovering in front of him, not so much caging him as he was before, mostly just invading his private space like he wants to jump Bucky’s bones.

Let’s be honest Bucky does too, he has no idea why he doesn't, right there, just because he wants to watch Clint squirm. He’s more and more tempted to make Clint beg for it. 

But also, there are on the common floor and anyone— well mainly Natasha— could walk in on them.

Clint leans in to kiss but Bucky speaks before he does.

“Clint, stop,” he tells him and watches Clint pull back with a small frown. 

They look at each other for a moment and Bucky is about to lose it but at the same time he can’t allow anyone to catch them in that position. 

“I missed you,” Clint says too suddenly. He’s not hiding behind a smirk, nor a playful remark. It’s like a punch to the gut for Bucky. 

Bucky puts the beer down behind him and cradles Clint’s beautiful face between his hands. It’s a damn miracle he had been able not to put his hands all over Clint yet.

“I missed you too,” he whispers, like it’s a secret just for the two of them. “But we can’t have Nat see us. We—”

Clint kisses him then, fast and hard and grabs at his hips to pull him closer.

“Let’s go to your room,” he says between Bucky’s lips. “She’s not going out of the shower for a while. She takes so much time in there you have no idea. Come on.”

Clint takes his hand and pulls him away from the kitchen. Bucky tries to resist a little because this now, it would be the time to put an end to whatever is happening between them. It would be the time to tell Clint they have to stop. For his own sanity, to avoid a broken heart on top of a broken mind.

Clint’s smiling back at him bright and a little filthy.

Bucky doesn’t know how to resist it.

He can’t.

He doesn’t and follows Clint to his quarters to fuck him quick and fast in the shower, like neither of them can’t control themselves. 

Natasha warms them via JARVIS that she’s waiting for them on the common floor and Clint joins her, letting Bucky some time to finish cleaning up and pull on some comfortable clothes. 

After that, Bucky experiences so many moments of thinking he should stop. They should stop. 

He never says anything.

He keeps Clint in his life like a secret, like a perfect thing that is just his. It’s selfish and dangerous and it hurts too. But it’s what he wants and what he needs. Their bubble never pop. For the months that follow, it’s intact and glowing and bright. Bucky is too far gone to see anything outside of that bubble. He’s too far gone to question the fact that he loves Clint.

* * *

A few months later, Bucky’s door opens in a bang. Their two bodies crash immediately on the wall in the foyer. Bucky is crowding Clint and kissing him like he wants revenge. Revenge on the idiot archer that he apparently has chosen to fall in love with.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” Clint hisses when Bucky roughly opens the zipper of Clint’s uniform and shoves his hand down his pants. Bucky is not gentle, he knows that. 

They aggressively kiss and bite each other’s lip while Bucky strokes Clint until his legs can barely carry him. Bucky abruptly removes his hand.

“That— Fuck Buck, you asshole,” Clint stammers as Bucky lifts him up in his arms. Clint automatically wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist and clings at him like he’s a giant tree. 

Bucky walks back to the couch until his calves touch the seat and he drops back. Clint adjusts himself to tower above Bucky on his lap, both knees bracketing Bucky’s hips still clad in his Avenger uniform. 

The new uniform is fully black obviously but Tony has outlined it with strings of silver, making it match his arm which is in full display. The front still has his signature straps and Clint is gripping them with both hands. The archer seems to love the straps, love hooking his hands under them, using them as leverage to ride Bucky. It satisfies something ferociously possessive inside Bucky.

Bucky grabs the back of Clint’s head, grasping his hair a little to pull him off his face and watch him in the eye.

“You better not do that ever again,” he growls, both because of his annoyance and his arousal.

“Just doing my job,” Clint lets out, almost breathless. 

“Your job,” Bucky punctuates his words with a sharp thug at Clint’s hair, making his lover whine each time and how delicious was this. “You fucking job was to shoot threats from above ground, hide and be the sharp shooter. Those were your _orders_.” Bucky dives to bite Clint’s skin on his exposed neck. “Not jump down in the middle of a robot army.”

“Ahh,” Clint exhales, “it, ahh, it was just stupid Doombots and— and—”

Bucky is grinding against Clint’s ass and biting and licking at his neck, behind his ears. The man on top of him is barely making any sense.

“It was just a few— _Jesus_ ,” he hisses again.

“Not a few, you asshole. There was at least a couple dozen _murder_ ‘bots,” Bucky insists and sucks at Clint’s skin to mark him.

“You— y’were there. You charging into that— _fuck—_ army of Doombots—.”

“Never again,” Bucky cuts him as he finally detaches himself from his neck and glares at him.

“T’was so hot,” Clint whispers to finish his phrase.

Bucky groans and grabs Clint’s ass with both hands to pull him closer. As they start kissing again, the Avengers alarm blares out from the ceiling with all the emergency red lights shining around them.

“What?” Clint blinks up.

Bucky straightens up a little, still holding Clint by the ass. “J.? What’s happening now?”

 _“Emergency signal, sir. I’m afraid another attack requires your intervention. I’m sorry about this.”_ The AI answers, sounding actually apologetic. 

Clint whines and drops his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “We literally just sat down.”

Bucky pats his ass. 

“Let’s go Barton,” he orders and as Clint unfolds himself, Bucky notices the red angry marks he left all over his neck. He grimaces a little as he trails his fingers on one of them. “Let’s hope they’ll all think this is from the previous attack.”

Clint winks before turning back on his heels. “Totally worth it though,” he concludes as he zips up his pants.

* * *

_**The morning after Pepper and Tony’s wedding** _

Bucky wakes up splayed on his stomach, face buried in the pillows. There are soft snoring noises next to him and a warm sensation under his flesh hand. It takes him a few minutes to emerge from sleep but he finally turns his head and blows at his hair to get them out of his face. 

Clint is asleep next to him, laying on his stomach as well, mouth slightly opened and a small round stain of drool on the pillow at its corner. Bucky’s hand is clutching at Clint’s ass cheek possessively. He closes his eyes for a moment to revel in all the sensations. He’s warm and comfortable and for the first time in almost a year he has spent the entire night with Clint. A small huff escapes his nose. Almost a year.

It’s been almost a year that Clint’s allowed him to see every side of him, the dark ones just as the bright ones.

Almost a year that he’s been granted the right to explore every inch of Clint’s body.

Almost a year.

And yet it’s the very first time he wakes up next to Clint.

He opens his eyes to watch the man he loves all relaxed and so, so beautiful.

Bucky squeezes Clint’s ass cheek, letting his fingers dig in the firm muscles. He wants to bite it. Wants to go under the sheets and bite and kiss Clint’s ass, wants to lavish him as he should be. 

Clint groans at the back of his throat and for the next few minutes Bucky observes as he gradually wakes up, ending up with a small frown on his forehead as he opens his eyes.

“Hi,” Bucky says.

“Hi”, Clint’s voice sounds scratchy. “Why in hell is it so bright in here?” He whines. 

Bucky chuckles. The blinds were closed and the light coming from outside is only minimal. 

“Sorry. That’s my natural glow shining down on you,” Bucky jokes.

Clint groans but Bucky isn’t sure he’s even heard him. The archer rubs his face on the pillow and turns his body to face Bucky. Bucky’s hand still grips his ass and Bucky moves closer to be able to keep it there.

“Got a real question though,” Clint continues and clears his voice a little. “Is my headache from overuse of caffeine, concussion, or a brain tumor?” 

“Vodka. Overuse of vodka,” Bucky tells him and drops a kiss to his cheek before starting to get up.

“Nooo,” Clint whines again. “Where are you going? You’re all warm and snuggly.”

“Sorry, my bladder’s calling.”

“Tell it to shut up.”

Bucky smiles, big and bright. Clint doesn’t see it, he closes his eyes again so Bucky just gives him another quick kiss and skips to the bathroom.

Once he’s in there he decides to hop in the shower quickly. They are in Clint’s quarters so the other man most likely won’t go anywhere, especially with how hungover he is. Bucky is actually surprised not to find him in bed as he exits the bathroom with a towel in hand to dry up his hair and another larger one secured around his waist.

There’s a faint smell of something burning coming from the main room and when the kitchen is in view there's indeed some smoke coming from somewhere on the counter. Clint is bended over the island, head resting on his crossed arms, with his legs spread as wild as he can manage not to fall down. This can’t be comfortable.

“Clint, what’s burning?” Bucky says loud enough to wake Clint up with a start. He straightens up, blinks a couple of times and leans his hip on the island.

“My desire for you,” he answers.

“The toaster is on fire,” Bucky tells him, deadpan.

Clint spins around immediately and looks at the toaster in horror.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims before spinning around once, twice, like he’s looking for something to put out the fire. Which isn’t even a fire yet, just heavy smoke from a burnt toast most likely.

Bucky shakes his head. Damn, he hates it when Tony is right. But yeah sometimes Clint is a freaking disaster.

“Unplug it, Clint,” he tells softly as he joins a panicked Clint.

Once the toaster is finally safe and the charred bread thrown in the trash, Clint is pouting and looking actually genuinely upset. It’s almost too adorable, and it’s a testament that Bucky has finally reached a moment in their non-relationship where he is comfortable enough with his feelings and not freaking out at watching Clint being upset.

Usually he would have felt worried. Worried that Clint was doubting him, their relationship, their situation. Worried that Clint would finally reject him.

Today, finally, Bucky isn’t afraid.

“What’s happening, doll?” He asks Clint.

“Nothing, I just. Nevermind,” Clint dismisses him and looks everywhere but at Bucky.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky comes closer and brackets Clint’s face with his hands. “It’s alright. It’s just the toaster.” He knows that’s not what Clint is upset about, he can read him far too well now. “What is it?”

“It’s just,” Clint starts and rubs his eyes, before dropping his hand to his side. “I wanted to make you breakfast. It’s. Shit. Don’t be mad okay?”

“Mad? Why would—” Bucky starts asking but Clint cuts him.

“I know s’not really what we do, but you stayed the night for once and I wanted to make you breakfast, for once. It’s always you that cooks and shit and I suck at it. I just wanted to show you I could, you know.” He stays quiet while Bucky allows him the time to finish his phrase. “I could take care of you too.”

Bucky’s heart feels like it just doubled his size and is now too big for his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Clint mumbles and honest to God tries to get away from Bucky’s embrace.

Bucky steps even closer and keeps his hands firmly on Clint’s cheeks forcing him to look at him.

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry,” he insists with authority and that drives all of Clint’s attention on him. “Don’t ever be sorry for something like that. Clint, you’ve been taking care of me for almost a year now. Breakfast or no breakfast. I’ve loved every moment with you.”

Clint’s eyes open widely, bright with surprise.

“But you’re always the one whose feeding me and carrying me to bed, and—”

“So what?”

“I–” Clint stops himself.

“You let me spend the night with you and okay maybe you were a little drunk but it’s still—” Bucky shakes his head a little. “I know you said we can’t ever be something, be in a relationship. But Clint. We are. We are a thing and you and I take care of each other and I want to take care of you every damn day and every damn night for however long you’ll have me.”

Clint’s eyes are glued to Bucky’s face, searching everywhere. There’s surprise written all over his face but no fear, no panic. Bucky knows. Bucky can read every emotion of Clint’s features. He knows. 

“I love you,” Bucky tells Clint softly. It rolls on his tongue like it always was its destiny. 

There’s a moment of silence where a dozen different emotions seem to pass on Clint’s face. None of them is fear. None of them.

His features seem to settle on relief. Or hope, Bucky is not quite sure.

“I would have let you spend every night with me if I had known,” Clint lets out almost too fast for Bucky to understand.

“What?”

“I. I want you to spend every day and night with me.”

“Yeah?” Bucky can’t repress the side of his lips to lift up, hopeful.

“Yeah,” Clint finally breathes as he dives in to capture Bucky’s face in his own hands and his lips with his mouth.

It’s a little frantic, a little uncoordinated. But it’s the most genuine kiss Bucky has ever experienced in his life.

When they pull apart, Bucky rests his forehead on Clint’s and they both smile at each other like the two saps that there are.

“Oh and,” Clint says only an inch from Bucky, “I love you too, Buck.”

Bucky sighs and closes his eyes. 

“Your breath is terrible by the way,” he says to Clint before opening his eyes when the archer pulls all the way from Bucky and leans on the counter behind him.

“You just ruined an absolutely beautiful moment,” Clint tells him. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

Bucky raises his hand, showing Clint a tiny space between his thumb and forefinger. “A little bit, yeah.”

Clint lets his head fall back and laughs openly. It’s a sound that Bucky is sure to never get tired of. He admires Clint laughing, far too content to even want to trail kisses down his exposed throat. Talk about growth.

“Let me take you out to breakfast,” Bucky finally asks.

Clint is smiling brightly and drops his eyes to linger on Bucky’s naked torso. He hooks a finger where the towel is secured around Bucky’s waist and tugs a little.

“It’s very hard not to say no right now,” Clint answers with a wicked smile. 

Bucky licks his lips and takes a step back, making sure Clint has time to get a good look at him from head to toe.

“When we come back from breakfast, you’re very welcome to say yes to everything I wanna do to you,” he says with a wink.

Clint groans a little but huffs a laugh too, following with his fingers still hooks on the towel, as Bucky walks backwards to the bedroom.

* * *

They end up spending the day outside, together. For the first time.

At the coffee shop when Bucky takes both their cups and paper bag with their donut, Clint puts his hand on the small of his back, guiding him towards a pair of height tables facing the street. They are in full view, nothing to hide them, to hide who they are. Bucky doesn’t even wear a glove. He forgot it and frankly, he doesn’t even care.

Clint feeds him little pieces of donut and talks too loud about shelters and rescue dogs and maybe Bucky just agreed to adopt one? He’s not sure. Oh, well.

They walk to the last construction site Bucky and Steve worked on. The new building is almost finished, just the exterior needs work. One of the workers recognizes him and comes to say hello at the gate. He realizes soon enough who’s the man leaning on Bucky’s side and they end up taking selfies through the fence with a few of his crew. As they walk away from the site, Clint takes his hand and tells him he’s proud of him. Behind them they hear the workers catcalling and whistling. One of them shouts _“Good catch Barnes!”_ and Bucky flips him the bird without turning around. 

At this point of the day, there's a good probability that Bucky is completely delirious with happiness.

They return to the Tower around six in the afternoon and Steve calls him to say he’s on his way with Peggy, Tony wants to have a drink on the commonfloor before leaving for his honeymoon.

Bucky tells him they’ll be right there. Steve is silent for a moment.

_“You mean you and Barton?”_

“Yeah,” Bucky answers watching as Clint removes his shoes and drops on the couch, “we went out.”

 _“Out? As on a date? In public?”_ Steve sounds a little stunned but mostly far too excited.

“Yes, yes. Don’t make it a big deal alright? See you in five.”

 _“Good for you Buck, good for you,”_ Steve concludes before Bucky hangs up on him.

It’s forty five minutes later when they both take the elevator to the commonfloor and Clint is sporting a brand new set of suction marks all over his thighs under his jeans.

Everyone is here already and most heads turn to watch them walk in. Natasha and Steve are wearing an annoyingly similar smirk. Peggy watches them fondly. Tony and Pepper are in an animated conversation, while Bruce and Thor are talking to each other unaware of the new excitement the pair brought in.

Clint tells Bucky he’s getting a couple of beers for them and Bucky nods.

He sits down on the couch, extends his arm on the back and his eyes catch Steve knowing smirk.

“Don’t even start,” he tells him.

“Start what?” Natasha falsely wonders.

“Oh bite me Romanoff,” Bucky shakes his head while Steve starts laughing and Peggy pats his knee giving Bucky an apologetic smile. 

“Don’t ever let her bite you,” Clint recommends as he hands the beer and sits next to him, leaning his body against Bucky without an ounce of refrain. “Her teeth are sharp as fuck.”

He takes a sip and looks up at Bucky from his eyelashes. Bucky’s arm comes to squeeze Clint’s shoulder and stays there.

“Thanks,” he says and drinks from the bottle without breaking eye contact.

“You’re welcome,” Clint answers softly.

They gaze at each other like there weren’t seven pairs of eyes on them right this moment. They know they look like two idiots in love. They don’t care.

“What is happening here?” Pepper exclaims, eyes wide.

“Ugh, finally,” Tony complains and rolls his eyes so far back Bucky almost wishes they’d stay that way.

“ _Finally_ what? What did you know you didn’t tell me?” Pepper swats his arm with the back of her hand.

“We mostly all knew,” Natasha comments like it’s the most boring moment in her entire life but the way her eyes dance as she watches her two friends say otherwise.

“I didn’t,” Bruce interjects, “I didn’t know. Did you know?” He asks in the general direction of Steve, Peggy and Natasha.

“Obviously,” Steve answers.

“I’ve known since last year,” Peggy says at the same time.

“Wait, _what_?” Steve gapes at her, then narrows his eyes at Bucky.

“She guessed,” Bucky tries to defend himself.

“I guessed too,” Natasha adds.

“So you didn’t tell her?” Bucky asks Clint, surprised.

“What are we all inquiring about exactly?” Thor suddenly asks out loud, seeming lost.

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t have too,” Clint answers Bucky. “She realized the second she saw my face after she returned from India.”

“Clint and Bucky are fuck-buddies,” Tony tells Thor as he points at Clint and Bucky with his fingers.

“We’re—” Bucky wants to start to correct that statement but the room suddenly erupts into a chaos of conversation about who knew first, who saw it before who, who didn’t say what.

Clint and Bucky exchange a look and Clint shrugs, takes a sip at his beer and gives Bucky a chaste kiss on the mouth, lingering.

It’s almost completely silent again when they pull away, aside from a quiet “awww” from Pepper.

“Also, Tony for your information we’re not fuck-buddies, we’re dating.” Bucky squeezes Clint’s shoulder as he says it, out-loud. God, it feels good.

“Dating?” Steve smiles brightly.

More questions erupt from around them, some asking for a timeline (that’s private, you noisy assholes), others asking if they need to release a PR statement (no, please no). 

“Yeah, we’re dating, like for real, like holding hands in the street and shit,” Clint gleefully adds and turns to Natasha, “you proud of me, Nat?”

“I’d be prouder if it didn’t take you so long.”

“Aw, Nat, no,” Clint wines, making Bucky laugh.

The conversation finally settles down, after a few congratulations and realization that their patting down to check for injuries after the Bahrain mission was not to check injuries at all. This one makes Bruce protests a little and requests no inappropriate touching on missions. 

“Define inappropriate touching?” Clint has to ask with a witty smirk and makes Bruce even more uncomfortable. 

It’s late at night, Clint is almost draped over Bucky’s body on the couch and they are all laughing and catching up. It’s actually the first time in months that the whole team is in the same room together and with Clint so close to him, Steve’s booming laugh, Peggy’s solid presence and Tony’s insatiable words, Bucky has never felt more at home in his entire life.

At some point, Steve turns to Pepper and Tony.

“Shouldn’t you two get ready for your honeymoon tomorrow?”

“Oh, about that,” Tony straightens up a little and gives Bucky a pointed look.

Bucky nods and he contains the smile that threatens to form on his face. Years and years of training and brainwashing just for this moment is almost worth it.

“We’re not going to Barbados tomorrow,” Tony adds, seriously.

“Why is that?” Peggy asks with a little concern.

“Because, my friend,” Bucky takes over, “we’re all going to Santorini next week to crash _your_ secret honeymoon.”

Steve and Peggy gap at Bucky and Peggy turns to glare at her son who just snickers while the rest of the room erupts again with questions and demanding answers about their secret wedding.

Bucky pushes Clint gently and leans forward to hold his hand up for Tony to high-five him. He sits back down and pats Clint’s stomach as the archer reinstalls himself comfortably on top of Bucky.

“Best vacation ever,” Bucky tells Steve, wiggling his eyebrows.


End file.
